


The Skin That Holds Me In

by brooklynantiques



Series: AU Collection [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Blood, Detectives, M/M, Mild Gore, Oral Sex, Steve Rogers Has Issues, special agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynantiques/pseuds/brooklynantiques
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers works at SHIELD Special Investigation Center, as head of his own team. Bucky Barnes is a new, inexperienced but sharp minded Agent who gets taken to a crime scene during his first day. It's a tough case, and they can't afford any distractions if they're going to solve it - which turns out being way harder than Steve's expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rmajuscule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmajuscule/gifts).



> Yo, this is a Special Agent AU, as you might have read above. It's going to be a few chapters, so hold on tight.  
> Title's taken from Benjamin Zephaniah's poem 'Faceless' which I found kind of fitting, I guess you'll see why. It's a lovely Poem, go read it! 
> 
> Also, this is dedicated to my amazing friend [agentbartomanoff](http://www.agentbartomanoff.tumblr.com/) (bruceybabes) who also does the beta-ing. There's no one better.  
> I just want to warn you a little about a thing - some chapters may come unbeta'd if I want to upload them in time, but if that happens I'll write it as a side note above the chapter. Just so you'll know. 
> 
> (My Tumblr [here](http://www.fishybones.tumblr.com/)) 
> 
> I think that's all, thank you for reading!

Steve loves his job. He really does.   
Nick, Natasha, Tony and the others really makes up for all the dead bodies he has to take a look at, they’re great to work with and he somehow manages to feel like a decent guy although the number of times he’s been behind the trigger are enough to be counted on two hands. SHIELD might be a murder investigation center, but to him it kind of feels like family, pathetically enough.

But there are some days when he’d much rather stay home on his couch, reading a good book, drinking a few cups of coffee for the 24 whole hours than take on the navy blue shirt with SHIELD-logos on both arms and back and head to the 20-floor building in the middle of New York.

This is one of those days.

He can’t skip out, though. Today is important. They’ve said goodbye to Sam, thanked him for his years with the team – was that really a tear in Natasha’s eye? – And now it’s time to welcome the newbie. Sometimes it’s a pretty big thing, taking in a new Agent. He really hopes this one won’t be a problem.

James Buchanan Barnes. Brooklyn-boy just like himself, speaks six languages fluently , no partner of any kind and nothing more serious than speeding on his criminal record . Steve hand picked him especially for his own team, knowing that they can’t afford bad chemistry in the middle of solving a murder. Natasha is the best one, but she’s hard to work with. He just hopes with his whole heart that the fact that this James knows Russian will give their relationship a little push in the right direction.  


-  


Almost as soon as he takes a step out of the elevator, he knows that he’s doomed. All it takes is for the guy to turn around and fix his blue eyes on Steve, meet his gaze determinedly with thin lips curled in a smile, eyes wrinkled at the corners and one hand reaching out to greet him.

His grip is firm, strong, his skin soft against Steve’s.

“James Barnes, pleasure to meet you. I guess you’re the one I’ll be calling boss?”

He has to drag himself back to reality not to look like some kind of staring freak.

“I guess I am. Steve Rogers, pleasure’s mine. I’m glad you could come here so quickly, we’re looking forward to having you on our team.” **  
**

“No problem at all, sir.”

The man, James, turns again and Steve gets another second to eye him. He hasn’t gotten his uniform yet, so he’s wearing skinny jeans and a basic blue shirt, a tall modeled black jacket and red scarf. His hair is pulled back in a messy knot, a few strands falling over his ear and cheek.

It basically looks like he’s been taken from an autumn fashion magazine and Steve’s not usually attracted to that kind of guy , but Jesus there’s something about this man that makes his skin prickle.

For god’s sake, he’s head of a team of special trained Agents. He needs to stop drooling over a guy that will be working under his orders from now on. Fury’s voice is echoing inside his head; _Do you know what you’re doing, Rogers?_  


“Walk with me.”

They head towards the big window, where Steve’s desk is placed and next to his, the others’, Sam’s old – James’ new, sun shining in and making the whole scene look rather peaceful. Steve notices that his trash bin is filled with coffee mugs and hesitates for a second before ignoring it, it might be the most realistic thing about their workplace at that moment.

The red haired woman to the left spins around in her chair and stands up, lipstick painted lips smiling formally and one eyebrow raised as she focus on the new face; Steve hasn’t even gotten time to warn him but that’s pretty much too late now.

“Hi, I’m Natasha,” Her voice is lower than usual, huskier.

“ _Здравствуйте_ ” He greets back, those wrinkles around his eyes visible again, and continues to introduce himself in fluent Russian.

Steve’s just standing by, mouth not completely open but it’s damn close because he didn’t tell this guy she was Russian, and Natasha’s hard boiled surface isn’t something you crack open during your first conversation, although James seem to have proven that myth kind of wrong. He’s already made her laugh, and that took at least a week for Steve.

Not that it matters, but…  

James turns to him, head slightly tilted to the left and he looks satisfied, glad.    
Gorgeous.

“Okay, that’s Natasha,” Steve says with a quirked eyebrow, pointing his hand towards the people in the middle of the room, “And this is Team Coulson. Clint Barton,” the blonde looks up, waves and goes back to cooling down his coffee, “Sharon Carter and Phil Coulson himself.”

Phil and Sharon are having a quiet conversation and don’t seem to notice they’re being talked about until Natasha coughs really loudly and they look up, greet shortly, and then go back to their discussion.

“But, as I said, they’re their own Team so don’t get your hopes up; you’ll be working with me and Nat 98% of the time.”

“Not a problem, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me that. Steve is fine.”

James smirks and his eyes glitter in the clear light from the fluorescent, and Steve’s so sure that he’s screwed with this guy, he’s far too attractive for his own good, far too easy to like.    
This is going to be hard.

He’s right about to gesture which desk is free when a whirlwind of black leather bursts out from the elevator. Nick Fury’s not angry, but determined, and he locks his gaze on Steve who immediately realizes what’s going on and stops James from putting down his jacket.

“We’ve got one. Call Bruce and head to the van, I’ll text the address,” then the big man’s out again, as soon as he’d entered.

Natasha’s up and ready, tightens her belt and pulls on her jacket before Steve’s done picking up his car keys. He turns to the other man, who surprisingly looks somewhat excited, without really knowing what’s going on.

“Welcome tothe Team” Steve smiles, and turns to walk towards the door.  


* * *

  


“Take these on.”

Bucky receives a blue shirt , identical to Steve’s, and a black folded package that feels hard and rough against his naked fingers.

“What’s this?”

It’s Natasha who answers, “Bulletproof vest. We all wear them, so no shame.”

“But…” he starts, then hesitates. Do you question this much on your first day? He doesn’t know, after all. He’s never done this before.

“What?”

Steve’s eyes look like they’re going to pierce right through his head, they’re that sharp, that blue, and even a little breathtaking.

He wants to punch himself in the face.

“I thought we were going to a crime scene, aka the guy’s already been there, done his thing. Do we still need ‘em? “

A chuckle slips out from Steve’s lips, almost echoes inside the car, “You can never be sure. We put security first; I don’t want any of my teammates to get shot. Least on their first day, James.”

The brunet mutters and curls out of his Jacket, tosses it on the empty seat beside him and does the same with his shirt. He dwells about having the vest on top of the shirt or under it, but decides to put on the shirt first.

“Oh, you can call me Bucky, by the way.”

“What?”

Steve looks at him through the rear-view mirror again and for the short of a second, their eyes meet, Bucky still undoing the buttons on his new shirt and half of his torso is exposed, his skin manages to prickle and a shiver runs down along his spine before Steve looks away quickly, a light faded blush dyeing his cheeks pink.

“Buchanan, therefore Bucky,”

“Noted.”

_I didn’t know Special Agents could blush._

After a minute of silence, Natasha leans over Steve’s left and points out a side street.

“Pull over, it’s right over there.”

He does, drives just around the corner to find two police cars and two other vans, white with the familiar eagle-logo on both sides, and a bunch of people standing around the taped area. It’s a back alley, not very big but apparently enough for the group. **  
**

As soon as the car’s stoppedand they’re all three out, Steve greets the others and shares a few words but Bucky’s impatient, he wants to know what’s happened, what’s going on and he’s almost about to turn and check for himself when the tall blond man finishes his conversation and waves as a command to follow him. **  
**

Bucky’s ducks under the yellow plastic tape and almost walks right into Steve, who’s stopped, and Natasha turns around with a warning look in her eyes, cheeks a little pale.

“ _Don’t rush it, big boy_ ,” she mumbles in Russian, “ _This one’s not a pleasure for the naked eye._ ”

That musky, repulsing smell is making the air thick and a little hard to breathe.   
He nods, accepts her words but can’t help to keep moving forward until he too can see what’s laying spread in front of them.

The body’s not intact in any way; the black suit almost looks clean in comparison to the surroundings. The victim, a man, probably a bit younger than middle-age, is lying on his stomach with legs slightly spread, no gunshot, no weapon, arms raised over his head – or at least, what’s left of it.   
There’s the sight that makes his stomach turn, twist, force his entire breakfast up his throat again. Bucky can almost feel how pale he gets; eyes go wider as he’s about to turn to get the sight out of his head – but he can’t manage to move an inch.

The victim’s whole head is skinned. Nothing but flesh, bone, tufts with hair and lots of blood is spilled over the white collar of the shirt. Asphalt’s been colored dark red, the eye globes are almost popping out from the skull and it looks so surreal, so horror-movie-like that Bucky almost can’t believe his eyes. It’s just like one of those things him and his sister used to watch when they were home alone, and ended up hiding under pillows and throwing popcorn at each other instead of following the actual storyline when it got too bloody or too creepy. By then, they could stop the movie and switch over to some old recorded Spice Girls concert instead, singing along with the comically dressed women on screen, but now?

This is real. Not a picture of an old crime from class, not something he just read on the news the same morning. This is a dead body, someone who got their whole head skinned, and god, hopefully this man was already dead when it happened, he hasn’t even thought about that yet. 

Steve’s beside him, and he makes an attempt to move but gets stopped by a voice from behind them that almost makes Bucky jump out of his skin.

“Don’t even think about it, Steve, unless you want your name in the crime register.”

“I wasn’t gonna touch it, Bruce…”

The man’s basically covered in a thin blue plastic clothing-set, including gloves, shoe covers and hair-net protecting those thick dark brown curls. His eyes, which are pretty much the same color as his hair, scan the body on the ground and he’s releasing a short sigh before marching up and kneeling down by it.

“Another maniac in town?”

“Sure looks like it.” Steve turns to Bucky, for the first time since the car, and he actually looks a little concerned. “You okay, J—Bucky?”

It takes about a second to answer, and when he does it’s not even close to as confident as it sounded in his head. “Yeah. I’m just… I haven’t seen anything like  _this_  before.”

Natasha’s reaching out to put a friendly hand on his shoulder, “It’s not always like this. It’s been at least half a year since we encountered something this brutal.”

“ _How can they do this so… Coldly?”_ Bucky asks quietly in Russian and she just laughs, and shrugs.

“ _Nerves of steel. Say what you want about Bruce and Steve, but they’re the best at their job_.”

The blonde man raises an eyebrow towards them, “Hey, I might not know Russian, but at least I can tell when someone’s talking about me. What are you saying?”

“Oh, only the good stuff, Rogers.”

She smirks and walks to stand by the doctor’s side as he’s taking out his tools and starts checking on the body.

Bucky can feel how Steve’s gaze is still locked on him, he turns and meets those blue eyes, tries to not focus too much on them.   
He’s failing.

“You look pretty… Well, I don’t know if upset’s the right word, but… Shaken? Relax. It’s your first day; we didn’t aim to scare you off the Agency.”

“You haven’t,” he’s quick to counter, “It’s just that I haven’t seen this before. Jeez, I’m okay.”

Steve still looks concerned.

He wonders if he’s always like that, protective and worried about people, or if it’s just the fact that Bucky’s new or if he’s like that with everyone working for SHIELD.

“Come on.”

Steve reaches out and puts a hand on his back – Bucky can just barely feel it because of the bullet proof vest but it feels natural to obey the orders and walk by the light pressure, out of the alley and back to where the air is lighter, easier. He doesn’t feel dizzy anymore and he turns to Steve with relief, and maybe a little guilt flushing over his face.

“Thanks. I might have needed that a little more than I thought.”

“No problem,” the man smile back and lets his hand fall back to his side. He nods to their left, “Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

They walk into a 7/11 just on the other side of the road, and it takes about two minutes to get two cups of plain, black coffee. The cashier asks if they’re cops and what’s going on outside, and Steve answers that it’s restricted information but that he’ll hear about it in a near future.

They drink their coffee outside, to the sound of almost nothing but a few cars passing by, and a child screaming from their pram.

“Why did you choose Criminology?” Steve asks, and bites on the edge of the paper mug. 

Bucky’s not quite sure what to answer at first. How do you summarize something like that, without sounding completely mental?

“I, uhm, I always liked Cluedo?”

Steve’s chuckle is clear and bright, makes a few of the knots in his stomach untie.

“No, okay seriously, not just because of that. I want to… Shit, okay this sounds so cliché and all but it’s true, Jesus. I want to make a difference. I think I’m pretty good at it, or at least I was in Criminology, and I know that it’s different when you’re out in the field but it feels like I can do something right now. A man got  _skinned_ here, and someone’s gotta capture the maniac who did it.”

He’s had his eyes focused at the asphalt during the whole time as he spoke, but looks up when he's done speaking to glance at Steve and at least get some kind of expression to analyze, see if he said something that has awaken attention.   
The man’s way closer than he expects. His brows are furrowed, a full smirk playing on his pink lips and it almost looks like he’s about to lean in, Bucky wants it, wants him to move closer without even hesitating about it, but knows that it won’t happen.

“Noble.”

The brunet snorts but can’t let go of those eyes, “You’re kidding.”

“Not really.”

“What’s your deal then? Why are you here?”

Steve takes a moment to think him too and Bucky almost forgets to breathe as he watches the man’s jaw muscle work, his neck tense and light up before he talks again.

“I feel good chasing the bad guys. It creates the illusion that maybe, maybe someday I can call myself a good guy. “

 _Oh please_ , he wants to answer,  _you seem like the most decent guy I’ve met and we’ve only known each other for a few hours_.

He can’t really believe that it’s all happening. He’s standing outside 7/11, totally checking out his new boss on a weekday, and it doesn’t even make him feel guilty.   
This man’s a treasure. Where did he even come from? He’s just so… Not just easy to talk with, easy to like but damn handsome and attractive in ways Bucky’d noticed the second he’d stepped out of the elevator.   
It’s just not things you think about your co-workers.

“Well, you’re not exactly a  _bad_  guy…” Bucky grins, knowing that maybe he’s stepping over a line right now, but Steve doesn’t stop him. Instead he laughs loudly and meets his eyes, blues glittering in the bright daylight.

“I guess I’m not. Can’t say you’re so bad either.”

“Oh, but I’m not  _good_.”

“I bet that’s just your facade… You’re just like Natasha – soft on the inside.”

They’re way closer than they started out and Bucky can almost feel the coffee heated breath from Steve’s mouth as he speaks, and if it wasn’t for the fact that this was just Steve, then he probably would have leaned in and kissed the bitter taste from his lips.

He wants to say  _No, I’m not_ , but he knows that’s not true. Steve’s right, he is soft on the inside but it’s not something he’s planning on showing to everyone, not in this kind of job.

“Guess you’ll see about that.”

They’re quiet for a couple of seconds, drinking from their paper cups and taking in the cool breeze, standing closer than they probably should and just enjoying each other’s company. Steve’s the one breaking the silence, looking vaguely curious about something.

“So, tell me a little about yourself.”

Bucky snorts, “Uhm, like what? What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” the man smiles, and a dimple appears in the corner of his cheek, “Just anything. Family, interests… Where you grew up… “

Jesus.

“Alright. Uhm… I grew up in Brooklyn. I’ve got a sister, a mother, a cat… I play the piano. I live in New York right now but it’s a very small apartment and I get homesick sometimes. That’s about it I think.”

Steve nods, “Do you still play? If you live here, I mean, do you have a piano in your apartment?

“Nah, it would never fit,” he wrinkles his nose, “but I know a girl at the Apollo Theater. She sometimes lets me in just so I can borrow one of theirs, and I honestly think that’s too much from her, but I can’t really stop, so… Okay now I sound like some goofy old musical freak. “ Steve chuckles at that. “How about you, do you play?”

“No, no… I could never,” the man hurries to answer, “Music was never my kind of thing. I’m just a boring twenty five year old, alone in my apartment. I used to live in Brooklyn too, but… The Agency is pretty much my family now.”

It doesn’t sound that bad to Bucky. He shrugs, “I’m glad to be a part of it.”

Whatever he meant by that. He doesn’t know. He barely knows how he can keep a straight conversation with this man, as gorgeous as a fucking model and built like a brick house.   
There’s something he didn’t ask though, that he wants to know about. It’s probably too awkward to take up now, but he’s already embarrassed himself to the arctic and back so maybe it doesn’t matter.

“So, you live alone? You don’t have a girlfriend, fiancée, I don’t know?”  

Steve shakes his head, shrugs.  “No girlfriend.”

But there’s something there. Something in his eyes that looks not completely over the question, maybe an ex-something still delaying in his mind, or maybe someone he’s interested in.

It’s kind of like a wake-up call. Or a reminder of what they’re doing, because Steve takes as step back and their moments is gone – oh well, not completely gone, but it’s not near as close as before.

“How about you?” The man asks and empties his cup, throws it in a trash bin on the wall aside.

“How about what?”

“A girlfriend, boyfriend…?”

He feels completely stupid and swallows the last in his cup too, crinkles it with his hand. “Nope. No one. “

He’s honest and Steve nods, fires of a grin and takes his cup, throws it away.

“Okay, huh. That’s strange—“ then he stops himself, swallows hard.

 “What’s strange?” Bucky can’t help but ask.

“No, nothing. That kind of comes with this job; you usually don’t get that much time for yourself. One second you’re home on your couch, the other you’re out looking for something, anything that can help you find a killer. And speaking about that…”

He puts a warm hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He can feel it from over the fabric, heat spreading like a bonfire down through his body.

“… We need to get back to the skinned one.”

Bucky groans. But of course, follows, when Steve steps away across the street again.

They find Natasha talking with one of the cops, but ending the conversation as soon as they take their first step onto the crime scene.

“Was the coffee good?” She snorts, but doesn’t wait for their answer. She pulls up a notepad and walks up to Steve, flips up the first page that’s full with letters and signs.

“I’ve searched the area, but I found basically nothing that could’ve come from the victim or the killer. Also, I mapped all the cameras around here, so Tony won’t have a problem finding our victim. Bruce says he died from cyanide poisoning – which means he was already dead when his pretty face got wrecked. They’ve packed him, and they’re going back. Bruce is done with all the samples and I’ve found nothing more. It’s time for Tony to do his thing.”

Steve nods. “Looks like we’re done here then. Thank you, Nat.”

“No problem, boss.”

She walks away with her pad and jumps into the back of a white van, Bruce already sitting there waiting for her.

Bucky’s mouth is almost wide open as he looks at her, astonished.

“She did all the work? Wait, are you sure that you’re the boss here?”

 “Sometimes, I’m not really sure,” Steve laughs. “Come on. Let’s get to our car.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Time of death ; sometime between 2.40 and 3.20. Cyanide poisoning,” Bruce states. Natasha, Steve, Bucky and Tony follows him around the operation table , standing on each side of it and Steve throws a worried glance towards the newest to see if he’s troubled by having to look at the corpse again. The man seems bothered, but not like he’s going to puke and that’s going to be enough for now. The body on the operation table is clean, almost completely white and doesn’t smell as much as earlier (or it’s just Steve getting more and more used to it, which isn’t that great, really).

“He was drugged , and he probably walked into the alley on his own will because I can’t find any marks of violence. No bruises, no cuts. The face’s carefully cut with some kind of scalpel, could be professionally done or at least by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.”

“So, it was well done, maybe by a doctor? A Surgeon?” Natasha offers, and Bruce nods.

“Yeah, it could be a surgeon. Or a doctor of some kind.”

“Consider yourself on the list, Banner,” Tony fills in and Bruce just gives him a tired look, but Steve can see Tony and Bucky exchanging smiles quickly. They seem to get along well together, and it pleases him to see how warmly everyone seem to think about The New Guy, even Natasha, and even Clint who’d gotten really excited when Bucky’d offered to get him coffee, with hand signs.   
( _Observant_  is the word Steve would use to describe him, since he’d noticed Natasha’s extremely faint Russian accent and the hearing aid in Clint’s ear, without having to ask about it and that’s an appreciated talent in a job like theirs.)

He made a good choice. Bucky is funny, easy to talk to, respectful and nice, maybe too nice towards just him and he likes it, god how he likes it.   
Being called ‘sir’ was never something that Steve found special, less arousing. Now suddenly it awoke a whole new effect on him. Thank god, the guy stopped when he told him to.

Also, he never had trouble listening to Bruce’s reports before.

He has to get his head in the game again.

“But why skin his head?” Bucky asks, and everyone focuses on him. For a second it looks like he’s about to back out but then he clears his throat and continues, “I mean, it must be a sign for something. If he’d just wanted to kill the man then he would have left him in the alley and let the local police take care of him, but he chose to perfectly skin his head off with a scalpel… It kind of feels like he wants to tell us something. Like it’s a symbol or a message…”

He looks around to see if anyone agrees with him, and Steve nods, “Yeah I think you've got a point." 

“So… He wants to tell us something? Like what, he likes hanging faces on his wall? He could also just be completely mental.”  **  
**

Natasha quirks an eyebrow at Tony.

“Maybe. Anything more, Bruce?”

The man shrugs and pulls the white sheet over the corpse, straightens up his glasses and looks at Steve. “As well as the cyanide, he had a little alcohol in his blood; I guess that’s why he was walking and not driving. And he probably worked in a kitchen, hospital or lab . See…” He pulls out an arm from under the sheet and puts a finger under a small, almost invisible line around the gray-white wrist, “He’s been using too small plastic gloves for a pretty long time.” The hand goes back under the sheet. “That’s about it I think.”

“Thank you; send it all to my computer. Your turn to shine, Tony.”   
Steve starts walking towards the glass door and everybody follows. Tony’s little lab is just a room away, for practical reasons, but also so him and Bruce can share their theories with each other if needed. They’re smart on their own, but together they’re almost unbeatable, and Steve honestly has a hard time imagining what it would be like without them.

“Daddy’s home!” the man proclaims as he enters the dark room , and reaches out for the switch. Three screens light up with the text  _‘WELCOME, MR. STARK’_. As Tony starts typing on the keyboard, Steve can hear Bucky and Natasha exchange a few sentences in Russian behind him and he’s about ninety percent sure that they’re about the computers.

Tony’s the best tech they could ever ask for, and he likes reminding them of that.

“Okay so I’ve got pictures from four cameras in the area.” Two more screens light up, “One from a money exchange, two from the 7/11 and one from the shitty travel agency right beside the alley. If we now rewind…”

All five screens show pictures from different angles, one of them is perfect to see the people who pass by the side road, the other three are not quite as good and none of them show an exact shot of the alley, but they will be enough to at least point out a victim.

Tony presses a button and the pictures all start to rewind. For a second, the image of two guys walking over the street passes by and Steve realizes that it’s him and Bucky from earlier that morning. The shot of them standing close is over in a second, but it still manages to make his heart skip and cheeks get warm before they’re both out of sight again and the picture’s getting darker. The clock in the upper corner shows 3.20 and they count the people that’s passing by until the time of death has passed.

“Eight people. Two women, god forbid they were out on their own. Three men in suits. One with a backpack, one who was really short. Could’ve been a kid. One in a red shirt.”  

Natasha counts on her fingers. “Can you identify the men in suits? I know the pictures aren’t half as clear as they should be, but…”

“I’m on it,” Tony nods and starts typing on his keyboard again. After a minute he picks up his phone and turns towards them.

“Jarvis is giving me all the information on the phone. I’ll call when I’ve got something.”

Steve nods. “Great. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

 

Tony stays in his tech-room but the other three take the elevator up and head to their office **.**  Steve sees that Bucky’s managed to put up all of his stuff in his booth – it’s not much, just a jar with pens and erasers, the computer screen lit up with a picture of him and a brown haired girl who  must be his sister, they’re too alike for her to not be, and a pile of notepads and two books he can’t read the titles on.

He turns to his own, gray desk and booth to realize how impersonal it is. He hasn’t got any pictures, just two folders with papers, and his computer screen is all plain black. The only thing that might give a little impression of himself is the enormous pile of paper cups lying both outside and inside the bin under his desk.

“Hey,” Natasha pulls him out of his thoughts , “You wanna go grab something to eat? There’s a pub that opened last week just a few streets away from my place, thought we might could try it out?”

He thinks about home for a second, his empty fridge and plain made bed. Lonely. Gray.

“I don’t see why not.”

She brightens up, “Are you coming too, James?”

The guy turns from shutting down his computer with his jacket half pulled on. “Sure, where is it?”

She tells him the address and apparently it’s not very far away from his place either, and  they walk away and head towards the elevator. When Bucky walks past Steve their arms are touching slightly and he can feel warmth spread in his body, from the elbow out in his fingers, up to his shoulders, down to his stomach. He swallows and follows, pushes away the thousands of things that he absolutely should not think about.

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s eaten a whole plate of amazing spaghetti carbonara, and the number of beers he swallowed it down with is maybe too high, because wow, right now Bucky is way more attractive than the first time he saw him.

His biceps are exposed, for he’s taken off his jacket now and he’s again wearing that blue t-shirt as he’d worn the same morning. It should be illegal. A few brown strands hang on each side of his face, and the blue-gray eyes are glittering in the fluorescent light.

“You look like you’ve stumbled into a gym and never left for hours, seriously, how’s that even possible?” his husky voice laughs, and Natasha agrees with a broad smile as she takes another sip from her glass.

“Well, I’m sorry for being big,” Steve counters and quirks an eyebrow. Nat is almost spitting out her drink.

He can feel a foot on his own under the table and his stomach takes a twist, eyes meet his own.

“Please,  _don’t_.”

They all laugh for a little too long and a guy comes to take away their plates. They’re almost about to order more beers when Steve listens to his inner voice and stops them, “No, no wait, we work tomorrow. I’m your boss! How did I get here?”

“Okay, Steve party-pooper Rogers,” Natasha smirks, “I thought you were enjoying yourself for once in a while?”

“I am,” he spits out and Bucky giggles. “Too much, shut up, both of you.”

They end up with more beer anyway.  

He finds out that he really likes how Bucky’s eyes are crinkling at the corners when he smiles, and how easily his lips seem to get red when he drinks.

By 11.57 Steve’s out, two giggly Russian-speaking colleagues behind him, and he’s torn between being unimpressed, guilty, irritated, and actually pretty happy. Although he’d never really admit it.

“I’ll be heading home then!” Natasha blurts out, and Steve looks at her mistrusting.

“You’re not taking a cab? C’mon Nat, I can’t let you go home alone.”

“Oh please,” she snorts, “I can crush whoever comes close to me with my left pinkie, you know that, Steve. Also it’s just around the corner. I think he’s the one that needs help to get home…”

A slim finger points at Bucky, who’s squinting his eyes to his phone screen, trying to read the time.

Steve knows she’s right.

“Okay, just don’t make me investigate your murder.”

“If you do, you can send it to Team Coulson.” 

She  away along the street, more balanced than he thought, and he turns towards Bucky again who’s stuffed the phone back in his pocket and now he’s standing closer than before.   
Way closer.

The blood start to rush through Steve’s body and he’s not quite sure what to do.

“You want me to follow you home?”

Bucky squints at him. “Y’know I usually don’t let guys do that on the first date but, I’ll make an exception.”

Steve laughs and puts a hand on his shoulder, lets him show the way. He does, and they walk the first street in silence, until the brunet starts talking again.

“Did you lie when I asked you about a girlfriend earlier?”

He gets kind of surprised. It’s not a question he’s expecting, so it takes about a second to figure out an answer. “No, I didn’t. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Bucky seems a little bothered.  _Observant_ pops up in Steve’s head again. “You looked a little sad, or a little thoughtful. Just thought I’d ask.”

He sure as hell seems to read people like open books.

“I don't a girlfriend. There was a girl once, though. I just got her on my mind for a second.”

“What about her? C’mon, I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve laughs, “It’s not like that. She was working for Team Coulson for a short while. We had an affair, but she jumped off the Agency and didn’t want anything to do with it afterwards, we decided to stay just friends and that’s about it. It wasn’t anything serious. It’s not that I’m not over it, it kind of just… Popped up when you asked me.”

The man looks like he’s processing the information, slowly. Steve looks at him as he blinks with thick, dark eyelashes, bites his lips until they’re cherry red in the yellow streetlight.

Damn.

He’s so screwed.

“What was her name?”

“Peggy.”

“Why did she jump off?”

“Unsolved case. We didn’t catch the guy; kind of the whole department was involved. He was a new Nazi, named Johann Schmitt, and he must’ve thought he was the new Hitler. He killed people in his presence that somehow didn’t fulfill his wishes, and he’d almost started a whole cult…”

Bucky whistles quietly, “Damn. And he got away?”

“Yeah. One day he just disappeared out of thin air, and we’ve got no idea where he went. The cult split up. They’ve got a lot of blood on their hands though.”

He gets an approving nod as they walk around the street corner and Bucky points out where his apartment is and Steve decides that he’s sober enough to make it by himself. It’s not that far.

They stand face to face for what feels like minutes before Steve finally clucks out a “Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow” and gets a “Of course, sir” and a wide smirk as a response which sends unintended shivers down his spine.   
It doesn’t help that they’re so close.   
It doesn’t help that he can see every shade of Bucky’s eyes in the faint light.   
It doesn’t help knowing that if he takes a step closer, they would be an inch away from pressing their lips together.

He needs to stop.

And he does, takes a step away and interprets the obvious fact that a gorgeous guy like this wouldn’t fall for his boss’ perverted dreams.

They turn their backs on each other and Steve’s only halfway home when the rain starts pouring down on him.

And he just thought the night couldn’t get better.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky gets a short text at 5.57 am and he curses loudly, not just once but thrice, and jumps into the first thing that’s lying on a chair next to his wardrobe. He buttons up the shirt and takes a quick look in the mirror.

Fighting justice looking like a junkie isn’t the thing he’d expected, but if they keep calling him in at this time they’ll have no right to complain.

He’s out of the building in a minute.

The air is raw and heavy and he hates it wholeheartedly. It makes his skin feel sticky, even though he isn't sweating and when he hits the crime scene, a headache is silently pounding in the back of his head.

Natasha’s standing outside the tape this time, holding two coffee cups and she offering him one when he walks up to her. He can’t thank her enough.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

The alley is longer this time, and it’s almost hard to see all the way into it, but he can see the police tape and therefore the area they’re focused on. He expects the worst when she speaks up, and doesn’t get surprised.

“Another one. More formally dressed, skinned faced, the whole alley’s a mess. Bruce’s working on the body right now and Steve’s searching the area, you should go see if he needs any help.”

He swallows the last of the warm liquid, gives her the empty cup and walks under the tape while ignoring the regular thuds in the back of his head. If it evolves to a migraine, he’s going to have to kill himself.

“Good morning, Shaggy.”

Steve’s standing on his knee, plastic gloves on his hands and he looks up from something at the ground to study Bucky’s face instead.

“Hey, I’m not Shaggy,” the brunet mutters, “I’m Daphne, or at least someone pretty.”

“Alright,” the blond looks down at the asphalt again, “as long as you don’t deny me the Fred-role. And I personally think Natasha’s Daphne; she’s even got the hair.”

“And I’m Velma!” Bucky can hear Bruce shout from further down the street, “’Cause I’m the only clever one on this team!”

He’s almost close to agree with that.

“You found anything, Fred?”

Steve shrugs, “Not a boot print, not a thing. This is looking more and more like a Scooby-Doo case, there’s nothing but the bodies and a sick amount of blood here.”

Bruce is moving in on them from behind, carrying a big hand barrow with another blue-dressed guy. When he walks by, he rolls his eyes, “I don’t recall seeing this much blood in any Scooby-Doo episode  _or_  movie, if I get to speak my mind.”

Bucky laughs and he can feel Steve smiling beside him.  
His heart takes an unexpected twist, clenching inside his chest.

_Stop._

“Come on. Let’s get back to the office.”

They duck under the tape and let Natasha lead the way to the car.

-

“Hey, I brought you coffee.”

If it’s one thing he’s good at, then it’s being cheesy for the boss, and right now Steve looks at him like he’s God. It’s a nice look.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

He heads towards his own desk but throws a glance over his shoulder to get a first class look at those ridiculously broad shoulders, that muscular back hiding under a layer of navy-blue fabric.

He can’t help but wonder what he would look like without a shirt.   
A tingle runs through his body and down in his belly, heating it up like a torch.

 _Fuck_.

He spins around in the chair to find Natasha studying him with a judgmental look in her eyes, and one eyebrow raised to the sky. For a second, Bucky’s sure she can read his mind.

 _“_ _So…What’s that all about?”_

He rants for a second in his head, and then decides to tell the truth.

 _“_ _Honestly? I have no fucking clue.”_

 She glances towards Steve, who seems busy reading some papers and he can’t understand a single thing of what they’re saying but it still feels risky talking out loud somehow.

_“You’re gonna have to calm it down anyway, unless you want to get caught looking like you’d eat him alive.”_

_“I would though. C’mon have you seen him? I can’t help being attracted to all that.”_

_“James.”_

_“Alright, alright…”_

_“All I’m saying is that he’s had work relationships before, and it didn’t end up that good.”_

He sighs, _“Yeah, he told me about that. Only another reason for me to keep my mouth shut. I won’t do anything, I promise.”_

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her desk, but Bucky’s quite sure that he’s right. Steve’s a decent man and someone like him wouldn’t just jump into bed with his teammate without thinking about it, less get any feelings for him.   
He simply can’t find that man in a scenario like this one.

“Hey, if you keep going I’m gonna have to banish Russian from the workplace.”

Natasha turns from her chair, “Or you could just learn.”

“Yeah, right.” Steve snorts.  **  
**

The blond rolls his eyes and it’s both childish and adorable, seen from on such a big man.   
Something beeps and he picks up his phone, reads the screen for a second before looking up at the others again, “Tony’s got a name. Let’s go.”

They’re all up in a second.

 

-

 

“His name is Nicolaj Golovin. He worked as a class one scientist in Russia, and he’s a pretty known drug and medicine developer, so Banner was right.” Bruce and Tony exchange quick smiles. “One day, a year ago he booked a flight to America and was never to be found until today, when I caught his pretty smile on the screen. Unfortunately, there's not much left of it. “

“And then he was tricked into an alley and got his face cut off. That’s nice.”

Steve clears his throat, “Okay, so he was a scientist. A drug developer. Does that say anything?”

“It could all be about drugs. But drug-dealing, trafficking is a sloppy crime and when someone dies in that kind of business, it’s usually from overdose and not from a surgically perfect procedure.” Natasha states and everyone agrees that it doesn’t quite seem right.

“We’ll have to look deeper. Medical report?"

They move towards the morgue, Bruce leading them to the right door, the right , and he pulls the white sheet away to expose another faceless corpse. There’s almost nothing but a skull left.

Steve’s kind of used to sights like these but there’s something about these victims that gives him the shivers. They’re cut up professionally. They’ve been taken care of like they’re just a part of something, and he’s got no idea of what it is or what it’s gonna lead to.

“This is practically the same as the other. He’s been cut up with a scalpel after dying from cyanide poisoning. His hands have those glove marks and he doesn’t have any fresh scars, only one from an appendix operation that occurred about ten years ago. No bruises, nothing. Tony put Jarvis to searching for his identity right now, and we’ll probably have it in a couple of hours.”

“So our progress in this right now is about… Zero?” Bucky sighs.

Steve quirks an eyebrow towards him, smiles sheepishly. “No, Agent Barnes. It’s not. Come on, we’re going upstairs again.”

-

“Nat, look up religious and cultural rituals where they used to skin the victims. Bucky, you look up crimes in the archives, articles on the internet. If you find anything that’s even the tiniest bit like this, just send it to me right away.”

“I’m on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

_Please don’t._

They turn on their chairs, and Steve turns on his, places his elbows on the desk and massages his temples slowly.

Okay. Okay. Two men, a Russian scientist and medicine developer, one probably a scientist or doctor too, were found in an alley, each of them killed by cyanide poisoning and got their heads skinned off. They wore formal clothes, the surroundings were clean off items and leads of any kind and they were both found in the same part of the city.   
Maximize the area. South of New York. The streets were pretty much abandoned, only a few people passed and there was no way any of them would see what was going on in the alleys at that time of the night. Approximately ten bars in the area of both streets.

Okay. Cyanide poisoning. What does that say? The killer could’ve been too small to take on the men himself, or he just wanted to be extremely careful. It could be a woman, if the choice of weapon was because of their own body size.

He pulls out a notepad and starts scribbling down keywords, thoughts. He does what he’s best at and even sketches a little to remember (it helps, he does remember but it’s not like he can sketch in the official rapports, only on his own papers).

He starts the computer and clicks up Tony’s reports, reads through it once again.

Nicolaj was tall, pretty broad, but it doesn’t say anything about sports, he wasn’t registered in any club. It’s hard to know since most of the facts are translated from Russian, and even they didn’t seem to have much information on the guy.

He can’t say if the killer was a man or woman. He can’t say if they were small or big or if they just used cyanide to be extremely cautious. He can’t say if the victims were connected somehow, and he can’t say if there’s any connection between the places where they found them.

Steve sighs.

 

[• **New E-Mail! From:**  james.b.barnes@shieldnet.com |  **Read Now?** ]

 

He clicks  **Yes** , and waits for the page to load.

It takes a while, then a number of links appears, followed by a short message. 

 

__

 **From:**  James Barnes [ _james.b.barnes@shieldnet.com_ ]  
**Subject:**  Archive, Articles

They’re messy and not very alike but it’s the only thing I could find. I’ll keep looking.

You okay? Want me to get some coffee for you? 

__

 

He clicks the links.

Bucky’s right, they’re all a little messy. Archive files from a whole skinned case where they’d caught the guy right on the crime scene. He was a psycho; Steve remembers it like it was yesterday although it’s probably been at least three years ago, and although the case wasn’t hard it still had that effect on him. He couldn’t shake it off in just one night.

There are two more articles about some cult that poured blood over their faces before sacrificing animals, but there's nothing more he can connect to the current case.

The other articles are also just vaguely connected and he sighs softly, knowing that they have way too little to go on and their lack of clues is getting rather frustrating.

People are dying on the streets. Two men in 48 hours, and he’s pretty goddamn sure that this isn’t over yet.

What can he do?

He writes a quick answer.

 

__

 **From:**  Steve Rogers [steven.g.rogers@shieldnet.com]   
**Subject:**  Re; Archive, Articles

We need more to work with. Search everything.

Coffee sounds good, but I'll join you.

__

 

Once he's heard that Bucky’s gotten the message, and when he’s sure he’s read it, he spins his chair around.

“Coffee?” he asks.

Bucky nods.

They take the elevator downstairs, and Steve complains that they haven’t got a coffee machine on their own floor although they’re the ones doing all the hard work. Bucky laughs at him and says that he’ll buy him one right before they retire.  
Steve doesn’t point out that people usually don’t stick that long at SHIELD.

There are examples. Sam Wilson. Peggy Carter.

He wants Bucky to stay though. He likes him.

Steve’s about to walk out on the fifth floor but Bucky stops him, presses the E-button for Entrance, and looks at him tiredly.

“Oh no, no. We’re not having some shitty machine-coffee right now; I need a double caramel Frappuccino with extra cream,  _pronto_. On my first workday, I saw a man  _without a face_. And now I’ve seen  _another_. Starbucks is the only solution.”

And Steve’s right when he guesses he’s got nothing to say against that. So he follows out through the door, breathes in some light gas-smelling air (note: better than air-conditioner air) and follows Bucky around the corner to get in line at the most popular coffee-place in America.

They order their sugar explosions and sit down at a table. It’s actually kind of quiet, so it’s not hard to have a normal conversation at a decent volume. He listens to one of Bucky’s stories from Criminology class, laughs pretty loud at some points and sips cold beverage, too sweet for his own good.

He listens, he really does. But his eyes seem to slide down to the man’s hands folded on the table from time to time.   
He’s got strong hands. A good handshake, Steve remembers that. His fingers are long and slender, the knuckles clearly visible and his wrists are somewhat thin but not fragile, not at all. It rather looks like he could break a bone with them, and at the same time… They’re so elegant.   
He’s using his hands when he talks. Gesticulates, twists them, and bends his fingers here and there. It’s fascinating.

Steve thinks about what he said the first day at the crime scene, about the piano, the Apollo Theatre. He must have some talent to get in there, even though there's a friend involved, and God, how he wishes he could hear him play, Steve loves music although he was never blessed with any kind of talent in the musical world. He sticks with his messy sketches instead, charcoal and pen.

“Hey, are you listening?” The blue-grays are looking at him, a little concerned and he waves it away quickly.

“Yeah, sorry, keep going." 

And Bucky lights up and keeps talking about the wicked teacher. Steve’s only half listening,  wondering what the hell he did wrong in life to get in a position like this one.


	4. Chapter 4

When Bucky started, it felt like everything was happening at the same time. He was dragged straight to the crime scene, had to deal with two dead bodies and had piles of paperwork waiting at his desk – Steve personally asked for research and it didn’t help that his stomach started to twist as soon as he heard his laugh, had to look into his blue eyes or just saw him walk by.

It’s now been a week since the second murder. And a lot has changed.

Tony’s been helping Team Coulson track down some Mexican pimp who shot three people in a jewelry store, stole the money and left.   
Bruce has taken a week’s vacation and left his work Doctor Jane Foster's hands, a young woman Bucky hasn’t seen a lot, although she seems really smart and sharp, spending a lot of time in the lab and as far away from the morgue as possible.

Him, Natasha and Steve have all hit a wall. They’ve spent all seven days going through information, reports, closed cases again and again, creating theories and then trashing them because they didn't seem logical.

“Anyone got anything?” Natasha asks for about the third time that afternoon and both Steve and Bucky turn, shaking their heads.

“There must be something we’ve missed…” Steve mutters.

His hair is messy, eyes a little red like he’s been sleeping badly and it’s not surprising, given that there’s a murderer on the loose. A maniac.   
Who can sleep at night if they feel like they can’t protect people like they should?

They’ve got nothing to go on.

Steve’s phone releases an irritating  _beep_ , and he picks it up immediately, answering with his formal tone. The one that makes Bucky’s skin prickle.

It’s been more than a week since he first got there. Good thing – he’s gotten to know both Natasha and Steve better. Bad thing – he can’t help but to like Steve more and more the longer time goes.    
He’s a goner.

“Yes. We’re on our way.”

The blond hangs up and something between fear and excitement flashes before his eyes. “There’s been another murder. It’s in the area, come on, let’s go.”

They’re almost running towards the elevator to get to the garage, and Bucky feels a lot of emotions he never thought he could feel at the same time.

“I’m almost glad this happened. Note  _almost_ ,” Natasha grins.

“Yeah, same,” he agrees. People dying is what they’re trying to prevent. But right now they might have something more on the killer.   
And he just wants to put this guy behind bars as quickly as possible.   
He wants to be able to focus on something else than skinned dead men and the sexual frustration over his boss.

They’re out on the road before Bucky’s fastened his belt, and Steve drives like it’s the end of the universe.   
Right now it feels like it is. 

Doctor Foster and Bruce, who seems to have come back just in time for the third murder, are discussing something quietly when they enter the sterilized white room. The man looks up and smiles quickly, his skin three times darker than before and his eyes seem more alert, more awake than a week ago.   
Bucky wonders where he’s been. Probably India, Taiwan or someplace like that. It seems like Dr Banner’s kind of vacation choice.

“Welcome back,” Steve greets from beside and walks up to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder, “It’s been quite dead around here since you left.”

Bruce looks at him incredulously and Tony bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god, Rogers.”

“Please, can we forget that just happened,” Natasha rolls her eyes and walks up by the side of the body, standard procedure. They’ve done this before.

“No, seriously that one was  _great_.”  **  
**

“Focus, Tony.”

Dr Foster clears her throat and pulls away the sheet to expose another pale, faceless corpse. But there’s one thing difference this time –

The victim’s a woman.   
Her body is thin and looks pretty fragile, hips and ribs pointing up so they’re visible from under the skin, and her facial bone structure seems sharp, from what’s left of it.

“She’s the same as the other bodies Bruce has examined,” Jane sighs and shakes her head sadly, “Cyanide and no marks of restraint.”

“And her identity?"

Tony points in the direction of his lab. “It’s running.”

“We did find something interesting this time, though.”

Everyone looks at Bruce.

“A note in the back pocket of her jeans. It’s just a piece of a tissue that someone’s scratched down their number on, but I think that says quite a lot.”

Bucky immediately gets what he’s talking about, “She could’ve come from one of those bars.”  
  
Bruce takes something from a workbench and gives it to Steve; the man holds it closer to the bright fluorescent light.

It’s a plastic bag, with the tissue inside of it. 

“We need to track this down too. Even if it’s no one important, if he was just trying to pick her up, he’s still seen something.”

 They haven’t had this much to work with in days and Bucky can feel his fingers itching with anticipation.

“Let me take care of that,” Natasha smirks and pulls out a cellphone from her pocket.

 

-

 

“H-hi? I’m sorry, who am I talking to?” Natasha’s voice is insecure, her brows furrowed and eyes worried and Bucky is surprised by how easy he almost falls for her act. He knows that it’s just a play, but she’s got talent for it, he can give her that.

“Yes, hello, my name is Natalia and I found your number in my sister’s pocket… No, sorry I didn’t mean to snoop around, it’s just…” her voice cracks and it sounds like she’s about to start crying, “She came home really late last night and she just went to bed, and when I woke up this morning she was gone! She’d left her clothes and this note, and I’ve tried to call her so many times but she just won’t pick up and none of her friends knows where she is, and I-I… I” She stops to breathe really loudly and Bucky can hear the guy on the other end speak quickly like he’s trying to prevent a panic attack.

She blinks towards him and Steve.

“No… Yes, I get that… “

She’s quiet for some more time.

“No, you didn’t see her after that? Okay… Okay… T-thank you, I’ll try again… Thanks…“

And like that, she’s done. She clears her throat and looks up with a whole new face, the one he’s more used to working with, professional and with a glimpse of successfulness in her eyes.   
She hangs up.

“Pierce’s Bar. He tried to buy her a drink but someone had already bought her one. She let him give her his number though, and he saw her leave around 2am, alone.”

“So that drink was mixed with cyanide?”

“Probably. We don’t know if this guy is clean though, he might be lying. I’ll go check on him, hopefully Coulson won’t complain if I borrow Clint as backup.”

Steve pats Bucky’s back, “You’re coming with me, we’re gonna have a drink. Before you leave, Nat, give Tony the information he needs, we have to get pictures from the bar’s security cameras.”

Adrenaline’s pumping through Bucky’s veins as they head towards the stairs; the garage is just one floor away. Steve’s face is calm and focused but his eyes say something totally different, and god, it’s a sight Bucky knows he can get used to. And as long as he doesn’t fuck up, he will.

“You think we’ll catch a bad guy?”

Steve turns to him, the prettiest smile playing on his lips. “I hope we will.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning before you can go ahead and read! My beta is at uni, so this chapter will be unbeta'd. Just so you know. And it's pretty short because the next one is quite long, I'll upload that too as soon as possible. Thank you for reading!

Steve’s eyeing the dark, half-empty bar that their GPS guided them to, and he can’t seem to understand why on earth someone would want to spend their Friday night there, in a dark booth or on a wiggly bar-stool.

Well, he’s never been a bar person after all.  

Bucky doesn’t bother hiding his excitement, and Steve finds his shining appearance slightly adorable, but that’s something he wants to keep to himself.  He steps inside, and heads towards an empty booth in the corner. Bucky pulls his jacket arm halfway.

“Aren’t we supposed to order something?”

“What?”

The man scratches the back of his head, “Well, it’s Friday and if we’re going to keep a low profile and things, we should do as normal people do when they go to bars. Have a drink.”

Steve feels stupid, yet he hesitates a little on the proposition. Right now he doesn’t need any alcohol in his body, but Bucky is right. Normal people buy drinks, and one beer can’t really hurt.  

They head to the bar desk instead.

Bucky orders two beers and offers to pay while Steve only half listens and nods automatically.

He tries to count the hidden security cameras, and finds one by the toilet sign and one in the corner by the door, but otherwise the local seems unsupervised. 

If they can get Tony the recordings from those cameras, they have pictures of one of the victims the night she was murdered, and if the cameras save recordings from a week back they can see if the other two men was here too. Steve’s hundred percent sure that this was where she got the cyanide in her body.

“Hey, are you alive?”

He turns. Bucky’s holding two beers with his left hand and the other is resting on Steve’s arm, warm and big and close to static. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.”

The hand falls to Bucky’s side again, leaves nothing but a phantom cold over Steve's prickly skin. 

_Get it together, Rogers._

He takes the beer he’s been offered and takes a sip, scans through the locals once again. There’s barely anyone there.  
Time to get down to business.

 

“Hi, excuse me?”

The guy behind the bar looks up when he realizes he’s being talked to, “Can I help you?”

“I think you can. We’re from SHIELD Special Investigation Center,” he holds up the badge and the look in the guy’s eyes change within a second, “No, we’re not here for your bar, but we’re looking for someone, and we’d like to check up the pictures from your security cameras. How long do you save the recordings?”

The guy looks confused, but decides to answer after a few seconds. “Uhm… For about… Two weeks?”

Steve smiles, “Can we take a look?”

“Uhm, sure...”

As they follow the guy behind a push-door beside the desk, Bucky leans in close enough for Steve to feel his breath against his ear, and whispers, “Okay so Natasha’s style is lying, yours is being plain honest. I don’t know which one I like the most.”

“Oh, but it should be easy…”

The bar guy walks up to a desk with a computer on, types in a password while the Agents wait patiently behind. When the guy finally turns, the screen’s split in half, and it’s showing moving pictures of what’s happening inside.

“Great!” Bucky states.  

“Is it okay if we…?” Steve gestures towards the computer and the guy gets the hint.

“Yeah sure, sure. I’m heading out there again, just call for me if you need any help.”

"Of course." 

 

They don’t. Steve starts sending over the files to Tony as soon as he gets his hand on the computer and Bucky’s lookin carefully at the pictures as they load on the screen.

“You think our killer’s here somewhere?”

Steve surely hopes so, but he doesn’t dare to answer. This might just be another drop in the ocean, but right now it’s the best they’ve got.

When the computer’s done counting down, he turns off the screen and sends a text to Tony in which he explains the files and tells him to search for all three victims, and who’s giving the woman her drink.

He sends and looks up at Bucky. “Done”

“What now?”

For the first time in what seems like forever (it’s actually just a couple of days) he dares to take a really good look at the man. First of all he’s been busy with the case, checking every detail he’s been able to lay his hands on, and second, he’s been trying to ignore how his body reacts every time he gets a hint of Bucky’s ass under a pair of skinny jeans, or his great upper body wearing that too short black t-shirt under the uniform shirt.

He has to focus, concentrate, he knows. But right now he’s about to give in for a little while.

Bucky looks tired. Steve hasn’t noticed the dark rings under his eyes, the brown hair a little messier than usual even though it’s tied back in a knot.  
He’s still fairly attractive though. Enough for Steve’s heart to clench. 

These are the things that him as a Team leader should notice.

“Come on; let me buy you a beer. Or two, to compensate for the first ones. It’s Saturday tomorrow and if Tony doesn’t find anything we can take the day off, so…”

The light hits Bucky’s eyes, and he grins widely.

“I was starting to think that ‘free’ was just a myth.”

Steve chuckles.  
He tries to not stare at the man’s ass when he turns around to walk out in the bar again.

 

-

 

“I dated a guy that did ballet once, man he was wicked! He could hold his leg straight up without bending it over, I was so impressed. Seriously man, he could bend his body every possible way…”

Bucky winks and Steve is hundred percent sure that he’s blushing like a school girl behind his bottle.

“Oh come on.”

He didn’t need to hear that, and he absolutely didn’t need to imagine Bucky in bed with a ballet dancer. 

“No, I’m being serious!”

The red shade on Bucky’s cheeks is fitting him well and he looks happy, eyes focused on Steve and only him, and the blond might hate himself a little for that but he loves it in every single way. The more beers he has the more selfish his thoughts get and he’s gonna have to stop soon or he won’t be able to handle this anymore.

“Have you ever dated a guy before?”

He’s a little surprised by the question. “Well, uhm..." he scratches the back of his head, "Never really dated, but..." 

“You’ve slept with one?”

Steve nods, not sure if he should point out a number of how many or not.  
Probably not. “Have you ever dated a woman?”

Bucky tilts his head to the side when he laughs and grabs the bottle-neck with his hand. “You’re face to face with the number one player in first grade. I think I dated all the girls in my class _and_ in the parallels. I stopped when I came to high school though, and well…” He rolls his eyes, “You know how high school is.”

“Yeah, I know.”

A faint memory of getting his lunch money stolen, and what felt like hundreds of eyes staring at him in the locker room comes back to haunt, but he ignores it.

And Bucky keeps talking.

 

 

They stay for another hour, drinks more and talks about everything they can come up with, mostly Bucky’s dates - and he’s got a few stories that make them both laugh until they’re tear-eyed. They’re flustered and happy and all giggly when they finally manage to put on their jackets and stumble out on the street again, Bucky grabs Steve’s arm to not trip over the doorstep and laughs even more.   
They’re not that drunk, Steve tells himself. He wouldn’t just stand there and laugh with anyone, there’s something about the moment and about the special company too.  
Bucky is special after all.   

He turns to help, ends up holding the man by the side of his arms checking so he’s alright.

“You alive?”

Bucky smirks widely, “Never better, boss.”

His pupils are dilated, the blue-grays not so gray anymore and his cheeks are red, lips almost the same shade. He raises a hand and puts it on Steve’s chest, fingers digging into the fabric of the shirt.

He’s _so_ attractive.

“Never better.”

And Bucky leans in, lays the weight of his body on top of Steve’s and presses their lips together.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, did I write that this chapter would come quickly? I'm so sorry! I thought I'd have to publish it unbeta'd, but then my hero came and told me she'd do it. It's here now, it's here and it's queer (wow that joke is so old and so lame), hope I didn't lose any of you guys on the way. 
> 
> Oh, and just a warning: here comes the frick frack. Brace yourselves.

It’s a sloppy kiss, that comes so suddenly Steve gets caught off guard but he can’t really step back without Bucky falling on top of him, so he just stands there and lets it happen. Two hands pull him closer by his sides and warm lips close around his own, making his brain go fuzzy andhis eyes shut by the natural kissing reflex. But right when he’s starting to realize what’s going on, Bucky stops his actions. He backs off.

The brunet looks regretful, somehow sad. It doesn’t suit him.

_Shit. Shit—What the hell are you doing, Rogers?_

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky sighs, taking a step back as if he’s going to leave but he’s hesitating and Steve knows that this is his last chance, if he’s going to be stupid then this is it.   
He is stupid. He can’t let this pass.

“No, please don’t be—“ He doesn’t even finish the sentence before he pulls the man in and holds him by his hips, pressing their foreheads together, “Don’t be.”

And then Bucky’s kissing him again and he’s giving in, kisses back like he’s never wanted anything more and well, maybe that’s partly true. He hasn’t been able to think about anything else since Bucky joined the team; he has tried not toimagine what it would feel like to kiss him, to touch him, but whatever he’d come up with – this beats it.

Bucky is warm and determined and tastes like beer and salt, Steve enjoys every kiss he can steal, every moment when he can feel the pressure against his lips and jeans fabric under his palms.

“’s is really stupid,” the man mumbles into Steve’s mouth and they both smile, Bucky sighs and then they keep exchanging kisses, for minutes, just softly and warmly, they’re open mouthed and wet, and probably nothing could feel better. Bucky’s hands finding their way up to Steve’s hair, clawing and feeling and pulling weakly. 

Steve’s got his thumbs inside the waistband of Bucky’s pants, feeling his skin against his hands, feeling his hips against his own and he’s filled with something that reminds him of fireworks, like his stomach is the sky on Fourth of July, pathetically enough.

They have to pause after a while, to catch their breaths, but Bucky’s fingers are still entwined in the blond thatch and his face is lit up by a smirk. “Can’t say that I haven’t thought about this…”

“Since, uhm… 7/11…” Steve bites his lip, realizing he just admitted his fairly hidden attraction. But what the hell, they just made out on the open street, it can’t really get worse. Or better.

“I was going to say the moment I saw you but, okay, 7/11 is fine.”  Bucky chuckles quietly, tilting his head until the tip of their noses touch. “Man, we’re screwed…”

Steve agrees, “So screwed,” then he strokes his hands down over Bucky’s ass and gets a muffled groan as answer, and kisses away the smile on his lips.

If no one stopped him, Steve knows he could kiss those lips for hours, and he’s never felt this way before, in his entire life. It’s strange, it’s terrifying yet so addicting he can’t really stop and Bucky seems just as caught by the moment as he is.

Or they’re just really drunk.   
And really stupid.   
And a little bit desperate for each other. 

When Bucky starts moving his hands down over Steve’s back, over his shoulders and arms, stomach and sides, fingers finding their ways under the jacket and the shirt then everything kind of just happens. Steve kisses down Bucky’s jaw, his throat, his collarbones and the man gasps at the touch, pressing his body as close as he can. 

“No, no wait…” He mumbles, and Steve looks up, “Not here, c’mon. Let’s find a cab.”

The blond nods his agreement. He doesn’t completely let go of Bucky though, searching his hand under the jacket arm and lets their fingers entwine with each other before they start walking towards the end of the street.

They hit a more crowded street, where cars are passing by and they even manage to stop a cab pretty quickly. Steve pulls out a few wrinkled dollar bills from his pocket and says his home address to the cab driver before turning to Bucky again, fingers itching and heart beating inside his chest.   
He almost feels 17 again.

It takes them 15 minutes to get from Pierce’s bar to his small apartment. They pretty much stumble inside the stone building as soon as Steve’s paid the driver, but it takes them a little while to get up the stairs and then for Steve to find the right key and unlock the right door.   
He can only hear the door being shut from behind before Bucky’s wrapped his arms around his neck and started to place kisses on the exposed skin between his hairline and the jacket’s neckband.

Steve turns around, wraps his arms around the man and greets him with a kiss.

 “Hi,” he murmurs between soft lips and a broad smile.

“Hi there, sir,” Bucky teases, and Steve groans and pushes him back a bit, looking him straight in the eyes.

“You’re gonna have to stop with that.”

The brunet shoots him an innocent look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Then they’re connected again and Bucky’s fingers are trailing up from Steve’s waist, under the shirt, and over his stomach. They’re cold against his naked skin, but he can live with it, he can probably tolerate anything by now as long as he gets to continue what they have started outside the bar.

Bucky lets out half a moan when Steve curls a finger under the waistband of his pants.

“Bedroom?”

He nods. “Bedroom.”

They kick off their shoes and Steve leads the way towards the bedroom, or actually, the only room with a closeable door to it. The room is pretty empty, except for the classic IKEA bed and a bookshelf with a few works and files in it, Bucky doesn’t spend that much time looking at the place.

Steve’s down on the iron framed mattress with Bucky’s palms on his chest, Bucky’s knees on each side of his hips before he gets to say a word, and the feeling of warm lips against the skin above his collar steals his ability to speak. Instead, he takes a deep breath to keep himself from moaning. 

He lets his fingers trail down a soft cheek, the other hand stroking down over the back of Bucky's body. They’re both still wearing jackets, shirts, Bucky’s got that black t-shirt that’s remarkably slim against his body and Steve wants to just take it off him, all of it.

The other man seems to think about the exact same thing. He leaves his position on all four to stand up only on his knees instead. Still straddling Steve, he takes off his jacket and the already open SHIELD uniform shirt. Then he reaches down to help Steve off with his jacket too.  
They throw them beside the bed.

  
Steve pulls Bucky down by the neck of his t-shirt and meets his smiling lips, enjoys how they feel, enjoys how they taste.

They kiss slowly, as if they need time exploring each other. Naked skin, soft t-shirt fabric, warm lips, deep breaths, it might feel good but Steve doesn’t want to rush it, he wants to really feel whatever’s going on between them and he wants it to be as damn good as he’s imagined.

Bucky’s fingers run up over his chest and plays a little with the top button of the blue shirt.

“Do you mind…?” The man chuckles.

“Absolutely not.”

Slender, strong fingers undo every button until Steve is lying with his chest bare, the shirt open but still rolled up over his arms and it makes him feel a little like he’s getting his photo taken for some ridiculous underwear magazine.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Steve laughs at that, meeting Bucky’s eyes for a second and then immediately regretting his reaction. Bucky looks extremely serious, eyes dark and focused, brows furrowed, one strand of hair hanging over his forehead. Then he smiles,

 “I’m serious, brick-house-Rogers.”

“Come on, you can’t be that bad either,” he lets one of his fingers point at Bucky’s side. “Take off that shirt and let’s see.”

He’s not bad. Especially not when he reaches to pull off the t-shirt from behind and Steve can see every detail of his body, every line of every muscle and he can’t help but to let his hands slide up over that stomach.

When Bucky’s done with the shirt he leans in, mumbling right before their lips meet, “Like it?”

Steve nods quickly, brushing their noses together. Then they kiss again, and again, and when Steve bites at Bucky’s under lip and asks for entrance with the tip of his tongue, he gets permission immediately. 

Right at that moment, he’s got a problem imagining anything that would feel better than just a make-out session this hot. But he still wants to take it further, just to see if it can get better.

Bucky lowers his body over the one beneath him, lets them brush together, skin against skin and clothes against clothes. It’s good, it makes Steve shiver with anticipation, already half hard in his pants and Bucky’s the same; he can feel it between the layers of jeans. Bucky grinds down against him, kiss-swollen lips nibbling at Steve’s, licking them open as he lets out a quick warm breath that remind more of a moan.

Cold fingers trail down along Steve’s sides, moving towards his belt and Bucky starts fumbling to get the buckle open.   
It’s always such a relief to get rid of the pants, Steve almost sighs when they’re down over his thighs and quickly thrown off the bed.

Then it’s Bucky’s turn and it takes a little longer to slip out of a pair of skinny jeans but it’s totally worth it when it’s done, Steve is just as astonished now as he was in the office when he’d shamefully glanced every now and then.

It actually feels really good that he’s given in, and is now allowed to touch, if he wants to.   
He really does.

Bucky eyes him from above, standing on all four.

“Did I say you were gorgeous?”

“You might have mentioned something like that.”

Steve chuckles quietly and strokes the back of his hand over the skin on Bucky’s neck, and down over his chest. The man purrs.

“Can I say it again?”

“I’m afraid I won’t accept that. It’s my turn now.”

He sits up, forces Bucky back and in a couple of seconds he’s rolled them around. They’ve switched positions and he’s got the brunet pinned to the bed as quickly as he’d overpowered an offender.

“Oh, okay!” Bucky laughs huskily, a playful smirk on his lips, “Playing bossy now, are we?”

Steve lowers his head, places a trail of kisses down Bucky’s throat, and mumbles against his warm skin. “Don’t remind me of that.”

The man breathes in harshly before being able to answer. His skin has prickled under Steve’s touch. “Of what? That you’re my boss and what we’re doing is completely wrong, but at the same time… Kind of a turn on?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

Bucky’s hands have found their way to the front of Steve’s boxers and are playfully drawing small circles over the waistband, carefully touching their way further down.   
Steve has to close his eyes for a second not to groan out loud.

“Enough with the teasing, alright?”

The brunet chuckles. “If that’s what you wish, sir.”

He pulls down the last garment and suddenly Steve’s all naked, slender fingers around his shaft and he gasps for breath at the sudden touch. Bucky works him hard and well, with a perfect rhythm and it doesn’t take long until he’s almost whining into the soft skin of the man’s neck.

“Fuc—“                                                                                    

“Y’like it?”

Bucky’s voice is lowered and sounds a little hungry, enough to make Steve release a muffled moan.

“Mh-“

He can barely speak properly.

He lets one hand search over Bucky’s torso, following the pattern of muscles down to his pelvis and hips and over his boxers, pulling them down.   
Bucky takes both of them in his hand, stroking them slowly.

Steve’s stuck with his left hand on the other man’s hip, his right one holding himself up but Bucky’s got one hand free and he raises it to cup Steve’s jawline, forcing his head up to look him straight in the eyes.

Their foreheads crash together.

Bucky closes his eyes, mouth slightly open, breaths getting hastier, hand movements getting faster.

Then it feels like everything happens really quickly.  

Steve’s got two fingers inside of Bucky, working him open until he’s whimpering, hands almost shaking, tangled in the blond mess of hair. They reach for lube and a condom and get it on as quickly as they can. It’s easier than expected, even though hands are fumbling.  

They press their bodies together, and Steve’s slowly pushing himself in with the feeling of Bucky’s warm breath against his ear, pleads that are half whispers escaping the man’s mouth and it’s probably a little too much because they have to wait for a few seconds before Steve can move again.

When they do, it’s almost painfully good. Steve’s got no idea how long it was since he last had this kind of sexual intercourse with someone, and he doesn’t recall it feeling this amazing but that might also be his mind being too caught up in the moment, or the endorphins rushing through his body.

They answer to each other’s movements, Steve thrusts a little deeper, breathes a little louder. Bucky claws down his fingers along Steve’s back, gasps repeatedly like he’s out of air. Skin is damp by sweat and their bodies get warmer and warmer with each move. It’s not hard to get why, but somehow it feels unusual to Steve, like he’s running a fever he can’t really stop, a ticking feeling flushing through his body, he loses himself to the rush of warmth and Bucky’s breath in his ear, his encouraging whispers and commands.

“Faster Steve, god… Fuck— Right there, keep going—“

“Feeling good?”  He asks, and Bucky almost cries out the answer.

“Yeah— yeah I do Stevie, I really do.”

From there it doesn’t take long until Steve’s familiar with his muscles tensing, the orgasm building up inside him and he moans when Bucky rolls his hips underneath him, “Bucky, I’m almost there— I’m gonna—“

And Bucky bites his lips, opens his eyes and moves down his hands to cup Steve’s cheeks and pulls his face closer, placing a sloppy wet kiss on his lips.

“Me too, god, me too…”

The warm lips move to the side of Steve’s head, placing a trail of kisses along his jawline then nibbling at his earlobe, up over the whole ear frame, licking teasingly, and god it feels so good, it’s bringing him right on the edge.    
Steve cries out loud and bites down Bucky’s shoulder to keep quiet, but it doesn’t really help that much. The orgasm is hitting him, like a punch – sudden, hard, close to breathtaking.

Teeth are still biting warm skin, Bucky’s body jerks up from underneath and for the short of a second Steve thinks that he’s hurting him – but a pair of warm, elegant hands have moved up in his hair again and they’re still pressing him close, holding him through the orgasm and Steve understands that Bucky coming too, not caring that much about choking his sounds.

The blond makes a final thrust, enough to make them both gasp for breath, enough to make Bucky whimper and spill come all over them both, curses and pleads slipping out between his lips.

Steve pulls out, still in the aftershock, still feeling every inch of his body tickle and every drop of blood return to run through his veins. He’s careful not to collapse on Bucky but it’s a little hard, and he almost falls over him anyway, the brunet chuckling tiredly, curling his arms around him.

They lay quiet for a while.   
Their chests are raising and lowering in perfect sync with each other.

Bucky turns his head to the side so they’re lying face to face, tips of their noses slightly touching. “Hi,” his voice is hoarse.  

“Hi,” Steve answers, and he can't help but to smile broadly.    
He feels like a total mess.

They should probably get up and clean themselves, but neither of them makes an attempt to move. The crinkles around Bucky’s eyes have reappeared when he locks his gaze on Steve’s lips, one finger drawing small circles on his back.    
Something in Steve’s stomach twists, and he recognizes that feeling a little too well.

“We should get up, get clean.”  
He closes his eyes like he’s denying his own words.

“Yeah, we should.”   
Bucky doesn’t stop moving his fingers.

It takes another couple of minutes until the stickiness gets too uncomfortable and Steve has to force himself out of the bed to get a wet towel in the bathroom and something clean to wear. He decides for just a white t-shirt and boxers, and when he comes back to the bedroom Bucky’s wearing his t-shirt too, and his own pair of boxers. The man’s holding a ballof fabric in one of his hands and after a second look, Steve can tell that it’s his uniform shirt.

Bucky looks up. He’s sitting with his legs crossed, fixing the hair knot with his free hand and his movements seem casual, calm.   
His eyes do not.

“Do you want me to leave now?”

The question takes Steve completely off guard. 

He hadn’t even thought about that yet. **  
**

Of course, he doesn’t want Bucky to leave, ever; he wants him to stay in his bed for as long as he can until they’re pulled back to the reality where Steve actually is in charge of his work, and there are no such things as ‘successful work relationships’.  He wants to ignore that reality for another 24 hours, and live with nothing but the warmth of another body and Bucky’s scent on the pillow beside his.

He’s just not sure how to explain it.

“I can take a cab home if you want me to, it’s fine. I will understand if you’re gonna ask me to leave.”  

Steve walks up to the bed, sits down on it and reaches out for the shirt in Bucky’s hands, puts it aside before entwining slender fingers with his own.  

“I’m not gonna ask you to leave.”

Something flashes by in Bucky’s eyes, a feeling, something Steve knows. Relief?

“Then I won’t. But you know…”

“I know.”

He doesn’t want to though. Sure, Nick Fury would probably scold him for hours about ‘irresponsibility’ and ‘doing the right thing’ and ‘self-control’ if they had to tell him, but wasn’t it worth it? Isn’t it still?

He’s not quite sure yet, but there’s something inside his mind that wants it to be.    
Ever since they first met, Steve’s felt obligated to have Bucky by his side, to see him, know that he’s reachable.   
Now he is.

He doesn’t want to stop that.

“We’ll figure something out. It’s worth it.” He fires off a grin.

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You think?”

Steve has to laugh. “Yeah, don’t you?”

The brunet smirks quickly and leans in so their faces are really close, mouths just a few inches apart, half open and ready to touch. They just don’t, the man’s keeping a teasing distance, still smirking broadly.

“I don’t know,” he purrs suggestively, “Maybe.”

“I can fire you right here, this second, you know that don’t you?”

Bucky laughs. “Aw, but that’s taking it too far, Steve Rogers.”

Steve cups a hand around Bucky’s cheek. “Is it now, James Buchanan Barnes?” They chuckle together, but then Steve’s all serious again. “I mean it though, you’re gonna have to want this too.”

“You don’t think I do?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know… Do you?”

Bucky looks down at their hands, the white sheets underneath them.

“Yeah, I do.” He meets Steve’s eyes. “I really do. I think I’ve never wanted anything like this..,” he gestures between them, “more than I do now.” 

And Steve finds himself almost speechless, heart pounding inside his chest until he realizes that maybe he has to answer. 

"Uhm, yeah, me too… That’s great…." 

“Great,” Bucky repeats.

 

They smile at each other like idiots for another few seconds before Steve breaks up in a big yawn, which must look ridiculous because Bucky laughs at him.

“Tired, sir?”

The clock on the bedside table shows 3 am and Steve groans loudly. “What if Tony calls tomorrow?”

“On a weekend? You guys are sick… We better get to sleep then, shall we?”

They slip under the covers with arms around each other, struggling to find the perfect position and Bucky ends up with half of his body on top of Steve’s, releasing a pleased sigh. “Okay, don’t move. This is perfect.” Steve curls an arm around his back.

In the short of a second, the brunet’s breathing has calmed down and he’s surprisingly quiet, chest movement’s slowed down.

It can’t be possible to fall asleep that quickly.

“G’night, Buck,” Steve whispers. He doesn’t get an answer.

Apparently it is.

It feels like a movie thing to do, like it never would happen in real life, but he actually falls asleep to the sound of Bucky’s quiet snores, with his lips curled up in a broad smile. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry christmas/Happy holidays guys! I'm sorry this has taken a while, I hope you're still hanging in there and haven't given up on me. Take this as a Christmas-present from me and my beta! And lots of love, of course.

Bucky’s wearing his jeans but no shirt, and he’s sitting on a chair in Steve’s kitchen with two sketch books open in his knee. The owner of the apartment’s got his back turned to him, fixing something that’s probably gonna be good enough to eat. He doesn’t know about Steve’s cooking skills but they don’t seem that bad after all, given that he’s actually making an attempt to cook.   
Bucky wouldn’t have, not at01.49 in the afternoon. **  
**

And Bucky still can't believe that he’s actually sitting there, casually on a chair at his totally hot boss’ house. His boss he just had sex with the night before, or the same morning, or whatever. And it was amazing. And he thinks that he’s denying how much he really likes this man but it’s starting to break now, because of how his skin prickles every time Steve’s touching him and how his heart is beating twice as fast every time he finds blue eyes looking at him that warmly.

He should probably be shocked or a little nervous about this situation. But he’s never felt calmer at someone else’s place, even though Steve’s apartment isn’t overly homey or personal at all. The only things he’s found that he’s been able to see more of Steve’s personality in are the sketch books. And he’s already fallen in love with them.

He’s gone through three, and there are maybe a dozen of them left. He’s seen sketches of New York, of Coney Island, of somewhere he couldn’t quite recognize and Steve explained that it was from a business trip Sam and him made to Berlin. He’s seen people, just random people from the streets and then Natasha and Sam and Bruce and Tony, even a small cartoon Nick Fury on the back of a page, posing proudly with a hand on each hip, coat caught swaying in the none-existing wind. It made Bucky crack a smile.

“These are all great, Steve. You know, you could become an artist, if you want to.”  **  
**

He can hear a warm laugh from over the stove, “Thanks, but no. Even if I wanted to, it would probably be a tougher business than the one I’m already in.”

Bucky shrugs. “You were never interested?”

The blond turns, and eyes him for a second. “For a short while. But I wouldn’t change my decision; S.H.I.E.L.D is, as I told you before, kind of my family.”

“Workaholic ,” Bucky snorts and Steve laughs at him again.

“You bet.”

They don’t really spend the day doing anything important or productive, and even though there’s a clear subtext behind all of their conversations and discrete touches here and there that always makes Bucky’s skin prickle, he wouldn’t call it a date, even if he wanted to.

Date or not-date, it’s anyway the best one he’s ever had.

They go to Starbucks around the corner just so Bucky can order his one-part-coffee-nine-parts-sugar-drink; Steve seems fine with just a latte. They chose take-away just so they can go back to Steve’s place and curl up on the sofa; watch some samurai movie that’s on one of the film channels and small talk to each other for the next two hours until Bucky falls asleep with his head in Steve’s lap and long, firm fingers running through his let-out hair.

It’s like he’s half awake all the time, sleeping but constantly aware of both the fingertips’ pressure and the scent of Steve’s after-shave mixed with newly washed clothes.  
He could probably lay there forever if no one stopped him, and just sleep away the reality.

Steve wakes him up with a gentle push and beams at him as soon as he opens his eyes.

“It’s 6pm. You want to have some dinner?”

Bucky’s stomach seems to be able to speak for itself. Steve laughs at the noise and pats it before moving away from the couch to get his phone and a few take-out flyers, asking if he wants Chinese or Indian or Pizza or anything else. They randomly pick Chinese and place their orders, argue about who’s going to pay until the delivery-guy shows up at the door and the fight has turned physical, Bucky’s pinned to the floor with hair all over his face and his foot placed on Steve’s stomach, pushing him away.

Even though Bucky hasclearly lost the wrestling fight, he’s the one who pays in the end. The delivery guy looks close to shocked when he finally gets to leave with the money.

And Bucky absolutely loves how openly they can talk to each other. Steve’s chewing his noodles as he’s telling about his relationship with Peggy, how great she was but how it simply didn’t work out and how they’re still meeting up once in a while when Steve’s got time off after work. He also mentions his mom, how much he misses her sometimes but that he’s happy she’s not suffering anymore, that she deserved better than that.

He trusts Bucky with all this. And it makes Bucky proud to know that someone wants to share their life experiences with him, and trust him with their dear memories or just everyday problems.

And that it’s Steve on top of that. Nothing could make him happier.

He realizes that he’s been staring at the blond man chewing his food, a little soy stuck at the corner of his mouth, the glass of water placed between his lips, for at least a couple of minutes when Steve stops eating and smiles at him broadly, looking like the fucking sunbeam he is. The big man leans in and Bucky smiles back, kisses away the soy from his mouth, tastes the food from his lips.

They completely forget what’s left of the food in the carton boxes and end up kissing, slowly and warmly and extremely arousingly on the couch instead.

Fifteen minutes of kisses that made their lips swollen, Steve breaks,saying that he needs a shower, proposing that maybe Bucky wants to follow?   
Oh, he does.

The water is warm, relaxing, running over his body like the best therapy there is on the planet. It is, at least according to Bucky. He’s finally got his hair out of his face; he’s got water dripping all over himself and the warm mass of muscles and skin under his palms, Steve gasping by his touch.

They’re placing kisses all over each other under the stream, tangle finger in hair and explores whatever body parts they couldn’t see yesterday during the night. Steve’s the one taking it further, kneelingdown, taking Bucky in his warm mouth until the brunet’s pushed back against the wall, letting words and moans flow free from his lips until they’re barely understandable. He hasn’t got any idea of what he’s saying.

“Oh fuck, Steve— Oh fuck— Yeah, baby keep going… God I’ve wanted this for so long, I swear—“

He pleads and almost cries out when Steve reaches up with his hand, placing it on his hip, pushes him back even more while sucking greedily, using his tongue, using his other hand.

Bucky is totally unaware of time, totally unaware of how long they’ve been in the shower but it can’t be that long when he starts feeling the orgasm load up and every muscle in his body flex.

He almost whines when he comes, Steve backing off in the last second to avoid getting messy and the water flushes, washing them both off as Bucky’s trying to relax again, to breathe normally.

He feels weak, his knees are wobbly. 

Steve stands up and wraps him up in his arms, kisses hungrily until Bucky can taste himself over warm lips.

He thinks that now, finally he gets to give back. And he’s going to give Steve the goddamn blowjob he deserves, as the best boss he’s ever had and the most beautiful man he’s ever laid his hands on.

But right when he’s curled his arms around Steve’s neck, they’re interrupted by an irritating tune that starts playing from outside the shower curtains. For a second, Bucky can’t imagine what the hell it is and then it hits him –

“Shit, it’s my work cell,” Steve curses and quickly lets go of Bucky, stumbles out from the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, as fast as if his life depended on it. Bucky can see the man bend down and pick up a small black phone from his jeans pocket before he also steps out from the still streaming water and into the coldness around him.

“Rogers.”

The professional tone in Steve’s voice is back.

Bucky’s not sure if it’s that tone, or the quick temperature changes around his body that makes him shiver.   
And oh, he recognizes the voice that he just barely can hear from the speakers, enough to make him a little irritated.

Goddamn it, Tony.

“I’m there as soon as I can.”

He hangs up. The sharp, focused look in his eyes stays though, and he turns to Bucky with a hand on his hip, posing like he’s facing death – in just a towel. **  
**

“Tony?” Bucky offers and Steve nods.

“He thinks he’s got our killer. We need to go, now.”

Bucky’s already dressed in his boxers, reaching out for his pants. It takes approximately five minutes to put on the full uniform and walk out from the apartment, Steve in the front with his car keys ready in his hand.

His movements might be calm when he drives out from the parking lot, there’s something sharp in his eyes that makes Bucky feel focused, trying to answer some questions that pops up in his head.  

What’s going to happen?

He’s got no idea.

“It’ll be alright.” Steve suddenly says from behind the wheel. He glances towards Bucky, and the brunet meets his eyes and smiles quickly.

“I didn’t think otherwise.”

“But you look nervous. Sorry…” Steve makes a quick turn, suddenly a little harsher in his motions, increasing the speed of the car too, “I get it. Just keep your mind calm and focused, and it will all work out. I trust you.” 

Bucky smiles, placing his hands in his lap to prevent them from shaking.

“I trust you too.”

 

-

 

Steve greets everyone in the room with a quick nod, and then immediately turns to Tony and the computer screen beside him.

“Where’s the second Russian?”

Bucky steps into the room as soon as Tony’s asked, and nods quickly too before standing beside his boss. “’m here. What’s going on?”

Steve throws a quick glance around the room to make sure no one’s looking weirdly at them and of course, no one does, it would be surprising but Steve still has to make sure. He’s getting paranoid.

 _Focus, Rogers_.

“Come on, Tony. Give us what we want.”

And Tony clears his throat, turns to his computer to open up a few files. On screen, there are pictures of a chubby, round-faced man. The little hair he’s got is combed over his forehead and he stares out in the room with an empty look in his pig-like eyes.

Steve shivers.

He knows he’s seen this man before.

“Arnim Zola, Swiss scientist who moved to the states two years ago,” Tony points at the screen, “Visited Pierce’s Bar three times these past two months. He’s probably the short guy we caught on the 7/11 security cam, too. He should be the one. Recognize him?”

“Steve?” Natasha turns towards him, cautiously.

Yeah. He remembers.

“Two years ago. He came here with John Schmidt, didn’t he? God—“

His head is almost spinning, everything falls into place, it looks so obvious now. Of course.

Shit. He should’ve noticed the signs…

“Steve, do you think this is connected to the HYDRA-case?”

“Of course it is,” he snaps, raises his hands to massage his temples, slowly, an act to regain focus. “Yes, of course… Zola was Schmidt’s right hand man. We never got him, or his leader, they were the ones who got away.”

He turns to Bucky quickly and the brunet seems quite focused. “It’s the case I told you—“

“Yeah, I understood that. I read the file – sorry if that wasn’t appropriate, but I got a little curious…”

Natasha chuckles from the other side of the room. “That’s our newbie.”

Bucky almost blushes.   
Almost.

“What are we gonna do?” he asks.

Steve turns to Tony again. “Do we know where he is?”

“Nope. But I’ve got pictures every minute from the Bar, if he shows up again we’ve got him. “

The blond nods.

He’s concentrated, already thinking about a few theories to connect Schmidt’s HYDRA and the skinning-murders; he needs to get to his desk and write them down.   
But a small part of his brain is trying to focus on Bucky. He throws quick glances at him, to see how he’s taking the information.  **  
**

He still looks a little nervous.

“Let’s head upstairs.”

 

—

 

Steve and Bucky stay the whole evening, and late night going through theories and reading the files from the HYDRA-case again and again. Natasha leaves around 2am, and by then almost the whole place is empty.

“Do you think the bar is involved?” Bucky asks as he grimaces at the machine-coffee. Steve knows that he’d prefer Starbucks, but they closed hours ago and the only thing close is the paper-tasting latte from floor 4.

He tries to not look at Bucky’s lips closing around the edge of the paper-mug when he answers.

“It might be. But we’ve got no proof for that. We should drop by and ask the bartender a few questions tomorrow.”

“What if he is and he calls to warn Zola?”

Steve scratches his jaw, ignoring the tiny, tiny stubble. “Then we’ll have Tony to track the call. That might be a good idea, actually…”

They form some kind of plan from that.

If they go to Pierce’s, ask a few questions and then see whatever he does next then maybe they have a quicker ticket to Zola. Plus, they’ll know whether the bar is involved or not. Of course, Zola could be working alone or with someone else who’s not connected to the bar. But it’s always worth a shot.

“I’ll e-mail Nat,” Steve nods and turns to his computer and types down the plan in a few sentences. When he’s just about to finish, he can feel slender fingers curling down over his shoulders from behind and his skin prickles the same second as he can feel the touch on his skin.

“Bucky—“ he starts, but closes his mouth quickly as a warm breath tickles against his neck, and the man places a kiss on the exposed skin right under his hairline.    
He has to shut his mouth, or he’d release some kind of inhumane sound. That’s a weak spot.

“What? There’s no one here.”

“We’ve got security cameras,” Steve answers as the fingers curl up over his torso and embrace him warmly from behind.

Bucky chuckles into his ear.

“Yeah, yeah. No one’s watching the recordings anyway.”

Steve manages to loosen himself a bit from the hug and spins around on his chair. “Hey, this is a murder investigation center. We’ve got top security; of course people are watching them.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “They don’t, not really. Only if something happens.”

That might be a little true. Not that Steve would ever admit it.

The brunet leans in and presses their foreheads together, gently enough so it doesn’t hurt, and then sighs quietly. “If you don’t want this, then tell me to stop. I will listen. Just tell me.”

The blond hesitates.   
Of course he can’t.

He wants this just as much. His heart is racing when Bucky leans in some more and presses their lips together, softly like the kiss during their dinner just a few hours ago. It feels like a different day, a different year.

Steve answers. He’s good at that now, answering Bucky’s kisses like he understands them, like a language. A hand makes its way to Bucky’s jawline and rests there, cups his face.  The man smiles into their kiss.

“You’ve got no idea for how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he chuckles warmly.

Steve smiles and holds back teasingly, “I think I can imagine. But if someone finds out we’re in some deep trouble, you know that right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They kiss again, longer and more passionate and it’s a little harder to keep their hands for themselves.   
Maybe not just a little.

 

-

 

This wasn’t why he stayed late, he has to remind himself, but Bucky is far too distracting to make that thought stay.

At least they came up with some kind of plan; Steve tells himself when he’s half-lying down on an uncomfortable couch that usually stands there for visitors, Bucky resting in his lap just like the day before. They came up with a plan, and got each other off against Steve’s perfectly organized desk.

He’s very comfortable with this, just sitting on a couch at work an early morning. Far too comfortable, given that he accidentally fell asleep and just woke up.

His watch shows 5.46.

He’s just about to fall asleep again when a familiar sound echoes through the locals, and his brain is still a little fuzzy by the short hours of rest so it takes a minute to realize what it is.   
When he does, he freezes in position.

The elevator releases another quick ding, and just when the doors start to slid open he points Bucky harshly on the stomach, on a rib to be precise.  

“Ouch, Steve what the fuck!”

Apparently, Bucky’s not the morning person, but when his eyes notice the moving elevator he sits up quickly and laughs nervously, “Shit, what—“

The short redhead walks out from the metal box, hair ruffled and curls pointing out from her head. In her hand she’s holding a take-away carton with what looks like breakfast and even though her outer appearance may look tired, her eyes are completely focused as usual and she’s probably wide awake.

A million explanations bubble up inside Steve’s brain, but all that comes out from his lips is a stupid, “Uhm”

He and Bucky may not lie on top of each other on the couch, but Natasha isn’t stupid. She probably already knows what’s going on.

She takes a few steps forward, eyes them both carefully before putting down the take-away box on the table beside her. It lands with a quiet  _bam._

“You lovebirds want some breakfast?”

Steve’s face is probably redder than the skinned ones in Bruce’s lab, but words are finally cooperating with him, “It’s not like that, Nat,” he quickly tries to explain but realizes that it only sounds stupid.  **  
**

The look on her face is very unimpressed, “Wow, great, good for you. I’m just glad you finally got together.” She adds something in Russian and Bucky chuckles from Steve’s side. When the blond turns to him, he can see those thin lips curled up in an innocent grin and he sighs dramatically.

“I’m really hungry, to be honest. What’ve you got, Natasha?”

Bucky stands up and starts walking towards her, and Steve isn’t far behind him.

“What did she say?” he mutters, a little irritated that they always use the Russian as their secret little code language, ridiculously enough.

His partner doesn’t look at him when he answers, but Steve can feel fingers brush against his own, a hand touching his and linking their fingers together, finishing the motion with a quick squeeze.

“Your fly is half open, and your shirt is buttoned wrong.”

Of course. How could this morning start any better way. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year guys! Here's another chapter, quicker this time because oh god, brace yourselves, _it's un-beta'd._ Dramatic. I hope you can ignore the mistakes I've made!  
>  Also, the chapter count is done. A total of 9 chapters. It's coming to an end now...

Bucky’s in the front seat of the car and right next to him, behind the wheel, is Steve. On the other side of the road stands the lonely, dark bar with neon signs shut down and not one light shining out from the other side of the windows – Pierce’s Bar really does look abandoned during the early afternoon.

Natasha is inside, talking to the bartender even though the place usually is closed at this time. Bucky finds himself smiling at that thought, because damn, that woman really knows how to play her cards in the right way. Who can say no to her?   
  


He throws a quick glance at Steve, his big hands gripping the wheel and his face turned to glance out the car window. He looks more professional than he did that morning - confused and embarrassed when Nat had found them on the couch. It wasn’t like they had been doing anything, really, but Steve had looked like a lost puppy and Bucky can still not think of one damn thing cuter than his face right then. And cute wasn’t a word he’d normally associate with Steve. Handsome, yes, but cute?  
Apparently so. 

He rests his hands in his lap, thinks about this plan of theirs. It really is a long shot – but it is the best they’ve got for now. Otherwise they’ll have to wait until Zola shows his ugly face again, and that might lead to another murder. They can’t have that. Can't afford it.   
  


“What if he’s moved? Y’know, out from America, back to Switzerland or something.”

A smile plays on Steve’s lips, “What, and leave his career as professional psychopath? No way.”   
The man releases a quick chuckle, then gets back a hint of seriousness again, “He's not that kind of guy who just leaves everything behind when things get a bit rough. Zola wants something bigger with this, and we're here to stop that from happening. ”

They sit quiet for a while. Then Steve opens his mouth again, "Look, here she comes."

 

He’s right. From the other side of the road, Natasha’s walking out from the bar and the look in her eyes is chased, steps determined. When she pulls the car door open she’s almost already started talking.

“I think he’s going to call someone, get Tony on it,  _now._ ”

Steve pulls up his phone and types away something quickly, and he’s barely had time to put down his phone back in his pocket when it buzzes in his hand again. He puts it to his ear and answers. “Tony, what’s going on?”

Bucky’s fingers are itching. He needs to know what the guy on the other end is saying but it’s impossible to hear from where he’s seated.

Steve hums and nods, and finally hangs up with a fast click, though his thumbs continue to dance over the screen.

“We’ve got a call,” the blond reclaims and Natasha releases a quick  _hum_  in triumph as the car engine starts again, and Steve’s phone is put in the GPS-holder with a map on the screen, coordinates in the upper right corner.

Suddenly, Bucky can feel the ticklish feeling return to his feet and then crawl up through the rest of his body, his stomach twisting unexpectedly – not because of Steve this time, but because of what’s about to come.

It’s now or never.  
  
  


The call comes from an address not too far away from Pierce’s Bar and it’s not very unexpected since all the murders seem to have happened in just that area. The pieces of the puzzle are slowly coming together and of course, it looks more obvious now when they’re almost there, at the murderer’s doorstep.   
If this is the right guy, now.

Steve had been pretty sure about that though. Apparently Tony was convinced that the guy talking with the bartender over the phone is Zola, obviously, with a hoarse and tense voice, German accent, everything, the whole package.

Bucky’s heart is beating so fast and loud in his chest that he barely can hear whatever his teammates are saying when the car is just rolling down the same street that’s marked red on the GPS-phone.  
  
  


-  
  
  


“It’s here,” Steve states as he turns off the engine and leaves the whole place completely silent. The only thing audible is their loud breaths.

“You’ve got your guns? Vests? Phones?” Natasha checks with them and both of the men nod.

All three of them take a deep, deep breath.

“Alright. We’re going in.”  
  


Natasha opens the car door and slides out on the street, Bucky can see how Steve’s about to follow but his reflexes punches out a hand that grabs his boss by his shirt arm and a pathetic, short whine manages to escape from his throat. “Wait—“

And even though Steve’s been fully focused the whole day, the whole chase, his eyes soften when he turns and looks at Bucky, places a very quick and hasty kiss on his forehead and mumbles, “You’ll be alright, soldier. I’m right behind you,” and then as silently as possible slides out from the car, him too.

Bucky needs a moment of silence, just one second, before he can mentally slap himself and walk out on the quiet street.  
  


It’s really dead. Quiet, not a child playing, not a bicycle riding by, and it’s only the early afternoon.

Of course, the neighborhood isn’t the friendliest-looking, prettiest of all the ones Bucky’s seen. Rather the opposite.   
The gray brick-laid building in front of him is dirty, boring and vandalized with spray tags and a duct-taped window. The handle on the door isn’t supposed to look brown, probably black, but it isn’t even close to that in color. Still, there’s no hesitation in Natasha’s hand when she’s pulling it open and signs for Steve to head first, Bucky after, and her last.    
The blond signs two fingers over his shoulder as he's entering the building.  
Floor two.   
He’s got Tony in his ear-piece, but Bucky can’t hear anything of what he’s saying. 

Bucky’s right behind Steve, holding the M9 tightly between both hands, breaking a little bit of sweat on his palms, but he's not shaking. He's not insecure. Nervousness is not something he can afford at this moment.   
  


They make the stairs and crowd around what seems to be the right door. Natasha’s quick with something in her hand, and Bucky realizes first when the thing’s pushed into the locket that it’s a small model of an army knife.   
It looks like an old trick for a special trained agent, but Natasha is quick and her moves effective, it doesn’t take long until the lock’s giving up with a ‘click’ and Steve’s hand is on the handle, ready to push it down.

Bucky counts quietly in his head.

One…

Two…

The door slides open and Steve disappears into the apartment, Natasha after and him last.  
  


Inside is not much better than the outside. If it hadn’t been for the torn paper pieces on the floor, Bucky wouldn’t have thought the walls to ever have been covered by some kind of wallpaper. They’re dirty white, shifting in really light green, which gives the impression of an abandoned clinic, and the wooden floor creaks from underneath for every step they take. Not only the walls remind him of a hospital, but there’s that smell in the air too. Sharp, itching, tickling his nose like it’s going to corrode from the inside.

Something’s not right.

They enter some kind of living room, but it’s clearly not used as anything even close to that. About three tables, and a number of wooden boxes placed on top of each other are spread around the room. On top of them there lies boxes, paper bags, plastic bags, containers with different kinds of liquids, pills or powder in them. There are a bunch of tools there too, microscopes and – Bucky swallows – scalpels, a few knives, wires and a laptop. Bottles with different colors are taking up a whole bookshelf behind a pile of carton boxes, and on top of the boxes there are three packages of plastic gloves.

Against the wall by the windows, three fridges and or freezers are placed next to each other.

Bucky forbids himself to think about what might be inside of them.  
  


The whole place is so absurd, like some second hand, dirty science lab, a sick joke or scenery from a b-quality thriller or horror movie.   
But it's actually there. Right before their eyes, they can see it all happening.   
And there's an uncomfortable feeling hanging in the room, a feeling of seriousness, desperation, pressure...   
  


“What the ever living fuck…” Natasha murmurs, and her face is slightly more pale than usual. Bucky thinks that he can probably relate to whatever’s going on in her head right now.

Steve on the other hand, has taken a few steps towards the closest table. He’s eyeing whatever’s lying on top of it but his face hasn’t moved a muscle since first stepping into the apartment, it’s like he’s a robot that can’t smell or see whatever’s going on around him and Bucky’s a little freaked that there’s something wicked going on with him until the blond turns, and throws a quick warm glance towards him, to make sure he’s alright.   
The brunet just nods, heart cramping a little inside his chest. He wants to leave. He wants to run out of the room, the building, and never place his feet anywhere near the area again.   
  


This is so fucked up. All of it.  
He needs to get his shit together.

Suddenly, the uncomfortable silence in the room breaks. If Steve hadn’t frozen and raised a finger to sign that they’d be quiet, Bucky would have missed it. But now when they’re all tip-toeing and holding their breaths he can hear it more clearly.   
The wheezing sound of someone whispering.

 

Once they’ve found out where the voice is coming from, they start moving as quietly as they can towards the white door by a carton box topped with several white and brown pills and a white note with a scribbly handwriting on it. Now when he’s standing closer, Bucky even manages to pick up a few words from what’s said inside.   
His skin prickles under his shirt.

“I’m going to find someone… ” and then something in German, which he doesn’t quite understand. “ _Ich mache das für dich_ ”  
  


Steve turns and nods, first to Natasha and then to Bucky. But it takes a second to realize what the gesture means.

The blond man kicks the door open with his foot, and heads, gun first, into the tiny room. Nat and Bucky are right behind him, and as soon as they’ve entered, beside him instead. They’re all pointing their guns at whatever movement they can lay their eyes on and at first it’s not much, just two people, the short man from the photos – Zola – and a dark haired, taller man, dressed in black. He takes out a gun from his back pocket, and points it towards all three of them at the same time. He’s quick, but he doesn’t stand a chance against the three of them together. 

It takes about two seconds to interpret the room. It’s really small, and there’s no real furniture inside, only a mattress on the floor, and a pin chair against one of the walls. There are wooden boxes and cartons in there too, and definitely more medicine.  
It’s pretty obvious why.

Bucky doesn’t see him at first, but on the mattress lies another man. He’s half naked, skin bruised and scarred, and it’s irritated over a few spots, like it’s been rubbed on or peeled off. But what’s really remarkable with him isn’t anywhere further down on his body.

It’s his face.   
His head.

It’s completely red. Like someone peeled off an entire layer of skin, brushed it until it turned more and more red, and now it’s won't go away. Like someone drained it of all of its color, and replaced it with something else that doesn’t belong there.   
He looks like one of the skinned victims. Except his skin is still there.    
He’s got no hair on his head, no eyebrows or eyelashes either and Bucky can’t tell if he’s ever had or if it fell off during whatever horrible happening this man lived through.   
White hands are fisted into the sheets, knuckles turned as read as his head. 

His eyes are closed, lips sealed together in an even line.   
It seems like he hasn’t noticed that tree agents just ran into his apartment, hospital room or whatever they should call the place. 

It’s like he’s trapped in another world.

In a comatose.

Bucky swallows harshly, turns his gaze away from the mattress, and points his gun at the man that’s standing, tall and dressed in black, instead.  
  
  


“Arnim Zola.”

Steve’s voice is a bit hoarse, but it’s not hesitant or insecure.

Zola that had been kneeling when they bust in, has now moved on his feet. He’s wearing a white lab-coat, and under it just a dirty gray t-shirt and brown suit pants.   
His pig-like eyes are shiny in the light from the light-bulb that’s hanging from the roof.

“Oh, no... No, no. I remember you…” His accent is so clear when saying just those words. He's unbelievably calm. “Steven, am I right? Oh, you were there when we started, weren’t you?”  
  


Steve’s expression doesn’t change. “Undercover.”

“Yes, yes of course you were…”

The little man’s gaze is straight out mocking, even though he’s got both Steve’s and Natasha’s guns pointed right at his head.   
Bucky’s still pointing his at the dark-haired man, Zola’s guard, but all he wishes at that moment is to just make it all end and get the little one quiet.  
There’s something too cocky in his voice. A manipulating tone.   
  


“How did you get back?”

Now it’s Natasha speaking, but it’s the question any of them could have asked. Zola’s facial expressions doesn’t change either.

“We never left; you just haven’t seen us, that’s all. Do you think we can move him somewhere? No, no…” a quick, soft glance is thrown at the red-headed man on the mattress, “He’s sick. And we’re finding him a cure. You’re not going to stop us.”

“Oh, you wanna bet?” Natasha shots back quickly but Steve’s flashing a hesitant look, Bucky manages to see that.  
Shit. 

Zola doesn’t stop talking. His voice is still mocking, and all Bucky wants is to shut him up.

“I could tell you, if you want, Steven. I could tell you all about what’s happening. But you’re gonna have to promise me that you’ll lower that gun then.”

_Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s a trap_ , echoes inside his head.

“You’ll admit the murders if I do?”

Steve sounds so unimpressed, and the short man releases a chuckle.

“It wouldn’t be admitting. Not to me, this isn’t admitting.”

That’s not even an answer to his question, but Steve’s gun is slowly sinking down from position to right next to his leg instead. Natasha’s still hesitating with hers up, but it’s not as focused as it was before.   
Zola looks so pleased he almost purrs.   
He leans forwards, eyes all three of them closely, even turns to his guard that’s aiming at Bucky and eyes him from top down to his toes.

Then he nods quickly, mutters something quietly.   
He starts.

“He is sick,” he wheezes out, “we need to have him back, we can’t lose our leader, the one who started this, started  _everything_. Even though we have been quiet, HYDRA hasn’t been dead, no, rather the opposite. We’ve been spreading, and not just in the states. Three volunteers from different places, scientists or doctors came here to work on a medicine, something to fix him. The first treatment didn’t end up very well… “

He gestures towards the red skin; Bucky almost loses his focus for a second.   
It happened from a treatment?

He knows what the man in a comatose has done; he knows he’s the reason behind all this. The sick things that’s happened lately, and before that. But he can’t help but to feel a little sorry for him. What he’s been through. The pain he's probably had to experience... 

Zola takes word again. “They kept on working, unable to make their first mistake better. Medicine developers – ha!” suddenly his voice is filled with despise, he’s almost spitting out the words, “They couldn’t make him better, make him come back. This is what he is now, trapped somewhere in-between life and comatose and he’s only getting worse. These people were the best – and they couldn’t even repair whatever they’d broken. So when we’d milked every drip of information and research out of them, when we  _knew_  we couldn’t get anything more from their pathetic little brains we decided to get rid of them. But it wasn’t like that. It was more of a sacrifice, to do good. You see… If you cut off one head, two shall take its place. This is only the first step…”

And he smiles that wry smile.

_He is completely crazy_.

“I didn’t just cut off their heads, I did something more. It was honor. A sacrificial, for this, a symbol of what’s coming next. Everyone shall see. Everyone shall know.”

 

_He’s sick._  
  


“HYDRA is going to rise again, Steven, and you should all accept that. Surrender.”

“We’re not surrendering to anyone,” Steve answers calmly, but his body’s tensing up a little.

Zola quirks an eyebrow.

It’s silent in the room for a second, but for Bucky, it feels like minutes. He’s observing every wrinkle in the little man’s face, every crack in his lower lip and the red in his eyes, even though his gun is pointed at someone else.

Maybe that’s why he can see the slight movement before anyone else does.

Zola is searching for something in the back of his robe and it hits Bucky as quickly as lightning what it must be.   
No one else does, no one else notices.

The Swiss spits out three final words before moving, and by then, Bucky’s already lowered his gun to take action.  
  


“ _So be it_.”

At the same time as Steve must see the smaller gun in Zola’s hand and realize what’s going on, Bucky’s there to push him away. It’s such an obvious thing to do, it just falls over him so naturally he doesn’t even hesitate for a second, not that he’s got that time but, he wouldn’t if he’d had it either.

All of his strength goes to pushing the bigger man out of balance, and right when he turns around he can hear it.

It sounds like an explosion. A loud, shivering  _bang_.

And it comes almost as quickly as the pain.

It’s warm, it’s sudden, comes from the left side of his head and wraps him up so completely that everything turns pitch black, and he forgets about what’s happening around him.  
No sounds, no movements.    
  
He forgets exactly what he’s done.   
He forgets why, or how.

All he can feel is his body falling.   
And it just keeps on falling, without hitting any ground. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, hi guys, long time no see!   
> Seriously, it's about time to publish this goddamn chapter now and finish this fic off. It's unbeta'd but I hope you'll be able to read it without getting too disturbed at mistakes in spelling and grammar, etc.   
> Soo, I want to thank you all for reading and for all of the nice things you've said! I always appreciate a comment about what you thought and so on. 
> 
> Lots of love and kisses! Let's finish this shit.

Steve spends every minute he can at the hospital.

It’s been two days since they confronted Zola, but his brain is still almost as messed up as it was that afternoon.

He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected anything of what had come, that Schmidt was sick and dying and that HYDRA had gotten back on their feet again and apparently started growing, hiding in the darkest corners and waiting to get out again.

He hadn’t expected Bucky to step forward and take a goddamn shot for him.  
  


Not literally. Not like that.

It had happened so suddenly almost all he remembers is the shock, and a shock itself isn’t much to go on.

Natasha had shot right after Bucky of course,   
shot the short man right in his chest and his guard on the hand so he’d dropped his gun, both disarmed, Zola almost immediately dead.

And that had been the wake-up call for Steve, who’d just been standing there like some kind of inexperienced freak-out.

He had felt like one.

He had felt so foreign. Like everything happened at least half as slow as it actually did, but still, he couldn’t cope.   
  


Medics couldn’t save Zola, but Schmidt and the guard were taken to the hospital, together with a mess of blood – and Bucky.

A shot to the head. Of course Zola would know they wore bulletproof vests, so he aimed for the head, and Bucky had just stepped forward to take it, like the goddamn hero he is.   
  


Steve’s a mess, he knows it. He’s angry, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg, he’s already locked himself up at a restroom at least twice, all shaken by frustration and confusion.  
He’s usually not someone to cry.   
No one comments it, not Fury nor Nat, Tony or Bruce, they try to contact him a few times but it’s never urgent, they understand that he needs his time.

Or whatever it is.

This is what happens when he gives in for his own feelings. Peggy did the right thing to leave him.   
But Bucky was never supposed to get hurt.  
  


As he realizes that all he need is to just be in the same building as Bucky’s body being patched up, he also realizes that he’s broken his own rule.  
He’s fallen in love with James Buchanan Barnes. He’s fallen completely, and there’s not a single thing he can do about it.

 -

“It’s not as bad as it must have looked,” the doctor explains and Steve tries to not drift away in his thoughts and listen to the only good news he’s gotten this week.   
The man explains that Bucky got shot on the right side of his head and it hit between his ear and his temple, enough to hurt but not kill, not do any larger physical damages.

But there’s something more though. The doctor looks concerned.

 

“We don’t know for sure if he’ll remember everything or nothing at all. It might be for just a few days back, it might be years, and James’ memories might look to him as if they’re… A bit surreal, like the works of a dream. They might be confused with other traumatic moments he's experienced, and since we don’t know how much he’s going to remember until he wakes up, we’ll just have to wait and see exactly what's going to happen.”

And Steve is so happy Bucky will make it without having to do advanced brain surgery or become paralyzed for the rest of his life – and it’s not like he’ll run around on the streets, not knowing who he is.  Steve really is happy about this.

But he doesn’t know what’ll happen to him if Bucky wakes up, and doesn’t recognize him at all.  
  
  


"It's all a matter of time, rest and therapy. You're going to have to trust us on this, Mr. Rogers." 

"Of course, doc."  
  
  


-  
  
  


“Hey, Buck.”

His lips are red, and they look dry, pinched together like his entire face has tensed up. Blue eyes' got that chased look in them, and all Steve wants is to lay his hand on top of the one wrinking the sheets of the hospital bed – but of course, he can’t. He might trigger something.   
The wrong thing.

The left side of Bucky’s head is all patched up, but except for that he looks better than expected. It’s different from the body he’d seen earlier, lying on the floor on the dirty old apartment, blood slowly spreading over the floor.   
Steve pushes the thought away.

When the brunet finally meets Steve’s eyes, it looks like he’s relaxing, and Steve can finally feel his own pulse slow down a little by the relief.

Mouth opens, like the brunet’s going to say something.

“What did I do, boss?”

Suddenly, Steve’s throat feels as dry as sandpaper. He clears it, locks his gaze on the man in his bed.   
He remembers him. He remembers the last few days, he has to. But how much of it? What exactly?

“You took a bullet for me.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow, or at least, tries to. He grimaces and looks a bit dizzy. “I did?”

Steve can’t help but to laugh a little, by relief or whatever it is, “Yeah, you did. That was very, very stupid of you and I’m horribly angry with you right now, but I can’t kick you when you’re already at the hospital, so…”

A second of silence.

The corners of Bucky’s mouth starts to curl up in a tired smile, “Guess you’ll have to wait til later then.”

At least his flirtatious behavior didn’t get knocked out with that bullet.

“How much do you remember?” Steve asks, a little curiously but still cautious. 

Bucky turns to look up at the roof, brows furrowed, voice lower, like he’s searching for something.

  
It's silent for a moment. Only the sound of a ticking clock on the sterile white wall repeats itself, again and again.   
Then he's speaking. 

“I… I don’t know, it’s hard to explain… But there was— a third one? A third murder? And—“

He stutters, still searching for something.  
It looks a little like he’s in pain and Steve’s suddenly a little worried, doubting that maybe this wasn’t the best decision, maybe he should’ve waited with the questions...

“I, uhm, there’s something about a bar, right?” Bucky offers, and all Steve can do is to nod.

“And that short guy… “ Suddenly, Bucky’s reaching out with his hand from under the blanket and starts holding it over his eyes, “God—he was the one who shot me, right? I can’t— Fuck”

“Whoa there, take it easy,” Steve steps closer to rest a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as the man starts shivering slightly under his touch, “You don’t need to do this now. All you need is rest. I probably shouldn’t be here…”

Bucky takes a few deeper breaths to calm down, and Steve lets go of him. “How long have you been here?”

“Just for a while,” he avoids the question.

“Oh. Okay. ”

They’re quiet for a while, but Bucky starts looking dizzier and dizzier. When he’s half asleep, Steve does a lame attempt to start a conversation again but he doesn’t get an answer at all, so he takes his jacket from the chair and leaves the room as quietly as he can instead.

“Get better, pal,” he murmurs, and shuts the door behind him.

Maybe it’s exaggeration to say that his heart is sinking inside his chest when he starts making his way back to S.H.I.E.L.D., but anyway, that’s exactly how it feels.  
  


-  
  


Step by step, Bucky’s getting better.

It only takes about a week before he’s out of the hospital and supposed to stay home at his apartment instead, but after only one day, Steve gets  a phone call from him, a rather desperate one where he pleads to come back to work, just to say hi to the other and look a little at the case report.

Steve hesitates. As much as he wants Bucky back, he can’t magically cure him by just proclaiming he’s all well and healthy. He needs to rest a bit more and take it easy for a while.

But Bucky won’t stop calling. And after five tries, Steve simply can’t say no.   
Maybe a few memories will come back if the man sees his working place again.   
Just maybe.  
  


-  
  


The brunet’s back by his desk, reading through the case for at least the third time one sunny morning, when Steve walks up to him and quickly peeks over his shoulder. He’s almost gotten used to seeing the man back in the building, and they’ve already started their fieldwork together again, the whole Team Rogers. He’s glad they’re all back on their feet, and so is the rest of the building. 

It’s not really clear how much Bucky remembers from the New HYDRA case, but he’s got the files for himself and he’s had specific parts of it explained for him, by both Natasha and Steve.

He hasn’t once asked about what happened at the bar the night they went out together. So Steve hasn’t told him.

He doesn’t really know  _why_ , but it’s just that a tiny part of him fears that Bucky would take it differently when it’s being said to him, and when he doesn’t remember it by himself.

And this might even be what’s best for them, for their whole Team, that they work together all three without any history with each other. Nothing more under the surface. He can’t risk getting Bucky hurt like that again.   
  


Natasha calls it all bullshit. She’s arguing against him every time the subject’s up for discussion (dinner at Steve's place, coffee at Starbucks), but he knows that she won’t tell Bucky about it even though she’d like to. She wouldn’t betray him like that, but she’s still making sure that he knows she doesn’t agree. Angry stares and wrong coffee orders are good examples of her way of showing it. 

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve turns around on his chair. A dark strand of hair is hanging over his face and his brows are furrowed, he’s biting his lip with a thoughtful expression as he’s scanning the pages in his hands.

“What is it?”

Bucky doesn’t even answer at first. He keeps biting his lip and Steve might get a little transfixed with watching it stay between a white row of teeth.

“This part, I keep coming back to it. When Tony realizes that it’s Zola who’s the killer and he’s calling us in… I don’t know I just have this weird feeling about it… Did I do something there, or—?”  

Steve clenches his jaw.

“I don’t think so, do you remember anything? Like, where you were at the moment, or what he said to you?”

Bucky looks up from his papers and stares right out on the floor.   
He’s searching in his memory again.

“No, not really… Or… No, I don’t think so—?”

“You alright, James?” Natasha walks over to them from Clint’s desk where she’s been helping with some Coulson paperwork, but now she looks concerned, leaning closer to Bucky to place a supporting hand on his shoulder. “Remember something?”

“I don’t know…”

But he stands up from his chair and blinks away the dizziness in his eyes.

He looks at Steve. For the short of a second, Steve’s scared that Bucky remembers everything. His look is soft and warm, he recognizes it from the night they spent right there at their office, but it’s good as gone as soon as the warmth starts spreading in Steve’s stomach again.

Bucky takes a step forward.

“Why is this so hard? Man…”

Natasha sighs from behind him and Steve shrugs, tries to look calm but his fingers are itching,  _Bucky almost remembers_.  
  


He suddenly feels an urge to flee. It’s like a part of him wants to stay and confront whatever the memory-loss leads to, but another part wants to leave now before it’s too late and… What if Bucky remembers them sleeping with each other, like it’s just a hasty fuck and nothing more than that?

What if Bucky thinks he’s been using him since he started?

No, that shouldn’t be possible.  It’s just nervous talk, he knows that.  

He just needs to get away for a minute.   
But those thoughts are still hiding somewhere in the back of his head.

Bucky sinks down on his office chair again, Steve watching him from the corner of his eye.   
 

“I’m getting coffee, you want anything?”

Steve avoids Natasha’s piercing gaze when she answers, “No, thank you.”

Bucky shakes his head as a no, him too.   
  
So Steve takes off, grabs his jacket so he can go and get some air, starts heading towards the elevator. On his way past Bucky, their arms accidentally brush together, but none of them jerk back.   
Steve swallows. He keeps on walking.

When he’s reached the doors and pressed the green button, and the engine starts running, he can suddenly feel the warmth of a hand on his shoulder.

He turns to face a piercing blue gaze.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Bucky’s voice is hoarse and – what, a little bit suspicious? Steve swallows clumsily.

“Of course.”

_Ding._

The elevator arrives.

Both of the men step into the metal box and Steve reaches out to press the E-button for Entrance. As soon as the doors slide close, he can feel the heat from Bucky’s body pressing against his side and he barely dares to turn around and face him.

There’s nothing but warmth in the other man’s eyes when he finally does.

“There’s something I think I remember…”

Steve swallows again. He can’t break their eye-contact, and his stomach is taking unexpected turns.

“And what is that, Barnes?”

Why does his voice sound much darker than before?

Bucky waits a minute with his answer, looks down for just a second as if he has to gather himself, “I’m not really sure, it doesn’t really make sense but… It’s just a feeling. There is more behind this, isn’t it?”

His stomach just can’t leave him alone. Steve’s whole body feels as warm as if someone set his clothes on fire, his fingers are itching again – he raises one hand just to touch the side of Bucky’s face, and it’s giving him away so completely but he can’t help it.

_Bucky almost remembers._

“What do you mean with 'more'?”

He’s being an ass, he knows it. Bucky furrows his brows, bites his lip again.

“You and... — oh, what the hell. Fuck it.”

Their noses touch, their foreheads touch – and Steve’s almost releasing a small sound before their lips melt together in a soft kiss, and his heart starts beating uncontrollably inside his chest.

Bucky’s hands are warm, resting on top of his shoulders and his lips are smiling into their kiss like he’s been waiting for it and Steve can’t help but to do the same. Because he really has.  

It’s almost as good as their first one, and it kind of hits him that maybe this is the first one for Bucky again. If he doesn’t quite remember, this one must be just as good. So he wraps his arms all around Bucky and deepens it to the point where they both start nibbling over each other’s lips, bite playfully with no rush, only softness and smiles and teasing.

But Steve’s forgotten that they’re standing inside an elevator, and he’s barely even aware of that it’s moving. What he does notice though, is when it stops. Bucky almost falls out of his arms, chuckling and wiping a bit of saliva from his cheek.

“Fuck, Steve— why didn’t you—“

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence before the doors slide open again, and arrived at the ground floor.

“Do you feel that we have to sit down and talk about this?” Steve asks as he’s trying to keep his smile in control and not beam at the whole damn entrance, even though it's really empty for the moment.

“Sit down? Yes. Talk? Maybe.” Bucky clicks his tongue and curls an eyebrow at Steve, who just sighs over dramatically.

“Can I have some coffee first?”

“Let me think about it. But yeah, seriously, we should probably talk about this…”

“Back at the station?”

Bucky throws a quick glance at his wrist watch, “No, back at my place. With Starbucks. We can finish those reports later on.”

The blond rolls his eyes, “Natasha will personally look your place up, and come assassinate you while you’re asleep.”

“Maybe,” Bucky smiles innocently. “But at least I’ll be asleep with you.”

   
-  
  
  


At the same time as he regains a few memories, he doesn’t really remember it. He remembers the softness of Steve’s skin and how it felt kissing him for the first time. He doesn’t really remember wherever they were or what they’d been drinking, or what happened the day after. He’s got a faint picture of breakfast on the couch, and when he opens Steve’s sketchbooks to take a look at his creations he realizes that he’s already seen half of them.

At first, he saw it as a loss. Well, whole hours have been taken from him so it’s not that strange. But now he tries to see it as more of a chance, how cheesy it may sound.

After all, he gets to kiss Steve for ‘the first time’ again. He gets to sleep with him ‘for the first time’. He gets to go on Starbucks dates and watch horrible new movies at the cinema with him, and he gets to stay by his side during work, whatever kind it is.

When the moment comes that they’re serious enough to come out at work, Steve has to have a serious conversation with Nick Fury at his office, and Natasha calls it ‘the birds and the bees’-talk. Bucky can’t imagine what it’s like having a birds and bees conversation with Fury himself, even if it's only about work relationships, but when Steve’s done he really looks like he’s had the worst day of his life.   
He does kiss Bucky on his forehead though, as he mutters a quiet “ _You’re doing it the next time, jerk”._

Tony’s reaction is to take out a dollar-bill from his pocket and throw it to a triumphant Bruce. Team Coulson just congratulates them, although Clint's signing something across the room that Bucky gladly keeps to himself and Steve says “If you’re using both Russian and ASL to keep me from understanding your secret conversations, I’m going to fire all of you.”  
  


And he’s happy, god, whatever memories he’s missing, he’s perfectly fine with building new ones to replace them.

This is where he belongs now.

And he’s perfectly fine with that.


End file.
